Revenge
by Fleuramis
Summary: Charon's death comes back to haunt the Musketeers.
1. Chapter 1

The Musketeers had just returned from a day of as trying to ferret out the culprit who had been slitting the purse-strings of a series of noblemen's purses, leaving two of them also with slit throats when they had tried chasing down the thief.

What had made it almost impossible to do was where the slim evidence pointed to as the residence of the still unknown thief and murderer-the Court of Miracles.

Aramis and Porthos opted for an early evening of dinner, a couple rounds of cards between themselves, and turning in early. Besides the investigation, Aramis had also been working nearly around-the-clock the previous week taking care of several of the men who had contracted the influenza that was currently making its rounds in Paris.

Porthos had been keeping an eye on the exhaustion Aramis was attempting to hide, and tried the plot of claiming to be extremely tired himself to waylay any suspicions his brother might have about his wishing to turn in early. He almost couldn't believe it when it worked, and Aramis agreed to the early night suggested with a barely suppressed yawn.

Athos and d'Artagnan, meanwhile, had headed out of the garrison for a much longer evening at one of the Musketeers favorite taverns.

Having ordered and then eaten an excellent chicken stew with vegetables, they were washing it down with a couple of bottles of the house wine, as was Athos' custom.

D'Artagnan had looked like he was barely refraining from bringing something up, Athos thought, his relaxed drinking mode hiding his deceptively pinpoint awareness of his brother's fidgeting.

After an hour of talking about sparring, garrison life and a half-hearted attempt by d'Artagnan to discuss women, Athos had finally had enough fencing around and asked him straight out, "D'Artagnan, is there something you wished to talk to me about?"

D'Artagnan, caught by surprise, responded, ""Did you…," he hesitated, hoping he had been mistaken, or imagining things. He began again, "Did you notice anything suspicious today when we were at the Court of Miracles?"

Athos hadn't seen anything other than the usual distrust in the eyes of many of the men there, along with unconcealed resentment that Musketeers were invading their community. But he also was well-aware of how keen-eyed his newest brother was, so he said he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, but then asked him what he had seen.

"They were looking at Aramis in a very threatening way, more so than usual. Pure hate, if you ask me. I may not be describing it as clearly as I saw it. I just know it was far worse than the way they looked at the rest of us-which, by the way, was not friendly."

Athos was quiet a moment, obviously thinking about what d'Artagnan had just shared.

"Let us hope it is nothing. But tomorrow, when we go back, we will keep a close eye out and see if it continues." Hesitating, he continued in a harder-edged voice, "We will also keep our hands close to our pistols-just in case."

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Next morning, as they again entered the Court and began questioning some of its inhabitants, Athos kept d'Artagnan's concern in mind, observing the people as they passed.

It didn't take him long to wonder if he had been blind yesterday. He now saw the looks given his brother after he had passed them from a number of the male denizens. The evil intent in a couple of them finally caused him to call a halt to the investigation around midday.

As they were passing through the usual vendor's carts in the marketplace near the garrison, Aramis finally spoke up after having given Athos several sidelong glances.

"Why did we quit so soon for the day?"

"Not here," Athos replied, very aware that Court inhabitants melded with the shoppers most days, utilizing their pickpocketing skills on sidetracked people trying to bargain down the prices of the goods on the carts. They didn't need to be overheard, and their words carried back to the Court.

Aramis shrugged and left the matter alone-for now. But he was now more curious than before.

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Later over dinner that evening, Aramis brought the subject up again.

Athos, Porthos, who had been filled in by Athos) and d'Artagnan looked at each other, and Aramis observed them doing it.

"What are you keeping from me?" he asked, hurt evident on his face.

Athos looked over at his other brothers for a moment, then heaving a sigh, turned his attention back to Aramis.

"Aramis, something is going on, and we are concerned that you could come to harm because of it," he began.

Aramis, his curiosity peaked, asked, "Would you care to explain?"

"Aramis, d'Artagnan told me after as we came back yesterday from the investigation that some of the men were giving you very ominous, threatening looks once you had passed by. I had seen none of this, other than the curious, wary or 'why are invading our home' looks, so today I was making a point of checking his observations out. Once I confirmed that what he had told me was indeed correct, I pulled us out of there."

It wasn't often that Aramis was speechless, but this was one of those moments. He had seen none of this! And yet he had been the focus!

Athos continued. "For this reason, I am asking Treville to pull you off this particular assignment."

"You can't! Athos, I'm not a coward! Neither am I an untrained tradesman or a wet-behind-the-ears cadet. I am a highly-trained soldier, as we all are. I can defend myself. There is no need to coddle me!" Aramis' words rang with all the passion in his heart.

Athos, however, shook his head. "Aramis, you are speaking with your heart now. Your mind should be telling you just exactly how dangerous the Court of Miracles has always been and continues to be. It is a rabbit warren, where a gun or a knife could come from anywhere. We would be four against untold numbers in there. You know this!"

"But…" Aramis began.

"Aramis," Athos interrupted, an unusual note of passion now in his voice. "We realized there was bound to be some animosity after you defended Porthos by having to kill Charon. This is undoubtedly some of the fallout from that incident. It may be short-lived. Passionate emotions often are. But I am not risking your life on the chance that it is more organized than that. There is a reason for our One For All. We have each other's back. And in this instance, I am taking steps to protect your life."

In the face of Athos' note of finality, Aramis realized it wouldn't do him any more good to keep up his argument. Turning, he Rose and left the table silently, not looking at any of his brothers as he headed for his room.

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Next morning, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan took off once more for the Court of Miracles after morning muster-a muster minus their fourth, who never emerged from his room."Athos had informed Treville of the previous evening's conversation before heading his bed, so the Captain wasn't surprised at Aramis' absence, but the other men were.

Low-voiced murmurs were heard, until Treville silenced them with a pointed look in their direction.

Aramis wasn't seen until midafternoon, when he came to eat a late midday meal alone. Men came by to ask if might want company, to which he gave a slow shake of his head before resuming his meal.

He had been thinking almost continuously about what his brothers had told him, and now was coming around to the realization that he may well have not noticed things, given how exhausted he was from the past few days. He took his medic duties very seriously, throwing himself completely into caring for his patients, staying well into the night to make sure they were given the best care he was capable of.

But he was honest with himself. That, coupled with patrolling may well have caused his extraordinary sense of danger to have been sluggish.

Finished with his meal, he headed for the stables to rub down Fidget, and just as he disappeared inside, his brothers came back through the main gates.

"Aramis! This man just brought you a package!" the guard at the gate called after him. Aramis didn't hear him, but his brothers coming back through the gates did, dismounting and walking over to the man who had been pointed out.

They eyed the package. It was very large lengthwise, with a thin piece jutting out about halfway down, and it was roughly wrapped in some nondescript brown paper. The man seemed to have a little trouble hefting it, so Porthos indicated he should just lay it down on the ground.

"Who is this from?" he asked in a curious voice.

The man shrugged. 'e didn't give 'is name," the man replied. "Just give me two coins an' said t' bring this 'ere," pointing at the package on the ground before turning to leave.

"Wait," Athos said. "Can you tell us what he looked like, at least?" He normally didn't received packages, and especially not at the gates.

"'is hat were pulled over 'is eyes, and 'e were wearing rough clothes, like them as at th' Court o' Miracles," the man said, seeming very nervous at answering questions.

Their heads all flew up, looking at each other with startled expressions, before now staring at the package before them.

Athos gave the man a coin and thanked him for coming, before dismissing him.

They squatted down and began tearing the wrapping away. But when they saw what it contained, they all three gasped in shock.

It was an effigy of a man, with a sword sticking out of its chest. The effigy had a blue sash wrapped around its middle.

The message was clear. Charon had died from Aramis' sword through his chest as he had been about to stab Porthos. This was a crude 'eye for an eye' warning.

Gaining their feet again, they turned, intending to inform the Captain of the incident, only to find Aramis staring at the effigy.

"Aramis…" Athos began, only for Aramis' tormented eyes to lift from the image on the ground to look at his brothers.

"Why?" he simply asked, pain in his eyes reflecting both the evil 'message' before him, and also the pain of having been so upset with the brothers who only wanted to protect him from it.


	2. Chapter 2

_**This is a very short chapter. I've been dealing with seasonal health issues, as well as two appointments and a meeting this week. Sorry about that. Next week will be back to normal again.**_

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To Aramis, the act of killing Charon was to save Porthos' life. It was as simple as that.

He never took pleasure in taking someone's life. He only did it for several reasons: a defense of his brother or another innocent person's life; in his duty to protect the Royal family; or in battle.

To be threatened like this was foreign to him.

"Aramis, you do understand that we need to take serious steps to protect your life now?" Athos told him.

"We're not going to' let them get away with coming after you," Porthos promised.

"Are they serious with this? Threatening a Musketeer? For killing someone who tried to knife Porthos?" D'Artagnan sounded incredulous.

"I am very much afraid that they are deadly serious," Athos told him. "And defending against the denizens of the Court of Miracles may be very difficult. Because of the secretiveness of the Court's people, we will not recognize the facial features of almost anyone who might come against us," naturally using the word 'us', as anyone who threatened one of them was considered as threatening them all.

Aramis had been very quiet as his brothers discussed the situation. He had never imagined that his life would be threatened over the incident, although in hindsight, he realized maybe he should have.

"Maybe I should go have a talk with Flea", Porthos suggested, only to immediately have Athos shaking his head.

"They will recognize you, Porthos. I would not put it past someone to try to take you hostage in exchange for Aramis handing himself over to them."

"They would have a mighty hard time overcoming me," Porthos began, only for Aramis to tell him, "No, Porthos, I won't let you risk your life like that. The Court is too dangerous a place."

Athos nodded, adding, "They live there. They have a natural advantage. They know the streets and buildings like the backs of their hands."

"For now, until we have names or descriptions, we stay away from the Court. And Aramis," he said, his eyes deadly serious as they held his brother's, "it goes without saying that you do not leave the garrison without at least two of us accompanying you?", forming the words as a question. But Aramis knew well it was more of an order from his brother. And he knew also that Treville would back him completely on it, so he reluctantly nodded his head.

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For the next few days, Aramis threw himself into the training of the cadets, probably making them much better with pistols and muskets than they ever would have been otherwise.

He tried to keep up a cheerful facade, cracking jokes more than usual. He knew his brothers were just trying to protect him, but the inaction was gettting to him. His heart was with his brothers, who were on guard duty at the palace. Even the routine duty that they all usually thought was boring appealed to him now.

He even went into the kitchen and offered his assistance to Serge, who promptly shoo'ed him out again.

He worked on the garrison weapons, making sure they were in perfect working order, and they shone from the polishing he gave them.

But the restrictions got to him, finally one morning agitatedly running his fingers through his hair and telling them he was bored out of his mind.

Athos then spoke up, surprising him, "How about a little dinner and wine tonight?"

Aramis was very surprised that he was suggesting going out of the garrison, and said so.

Athos replied that a couple of the veterans wanted to accompany them, and nothing would happen with six fully-armed men walking through the streets. He and his brothers knew exactly how Aramis must be feeling, because they would feel the same way if they were in his position.

Aramis privately thought that, in reality, his brothers had been the ones to go to the other men and ask them to come. But he knew they did it because they cared, so he said nothing, just smiled. He was happy just to be going out somewhere, it didn't matter where.

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Their evening had been relaxing, good food and a few light rounds of cards. The evening was punctuated by Aramis' storytelling, as always laced with humor and exaggeration.

Finally calling it a night, they bid goodbye to the other men still populating the headed out into the brisk night air. It wasn't quite winter yet, but acting like it wasn't far off.

They were about halfway back. Aramis was exuberant, still entertaining them with tall tales.

"Gentlemen, I tell you the truth. I…."

Athos, without a word, suddenly grabbed Aramis' elbow and dragged him against the nearest wall, pistol already pulled with the other one. The other men, seeing his action, had taken a defensive stance around them with their own pistols drawn.

From around several buildings appeared men, their heads covered with animal skins, holes for eyes cut into them. They carried guns and wooden staves, and looked menacing

Athos raised his voice and said, "What do you want?" although he already knew."Hand over the killer, and you can leave in peace," a man with a makeshift head of a wolf demanded.

"Harming or killing one of the King's personal guards is a hanging offense," Athos warned.

He was trying to assess the situation as he spoke. This particular part of the street had very little area to shelter behind. These men had chosen their ambush well.

"Most of us are already guilty of offenses that could get us hanged, so the threat won't work, Musketeer," the 'wolf's' voice continued.

"Aramis killed Charon to protect the life of his brother," Athos rejoined.

He heard an angry muttering from the men surrounding them. "We've heard that lie before," their leader continued. "Charon would never kill someone unless it was a fair fight."

Porthos spoke up now. "The Charon I grew up with wouldn't, but he changed. Power went to his head. If Aramis hadn't of defended me, I wouldn't be here today."

But the leader had obviously coached his men well. The voices grew louder and angrier at Porthos' words. Before another word was spoken, they all moved at once at the Musketeer, staves held high in their hands.

The fighting was brutal and furious, but the Musketeers were far more well-trained in fighting, and soon a number of the Court men were lying lifeless in the street.

Porthos grabbed two of the men, and cracked their heads together, both of them dropping silently to the ground. D'Artagnan swung his pistol like their staves, taking two more out of commission.

Athos, keeping an indignant Aramis out of the fighting, was watchful for any tricks the attackers might have up their sleeves.

Even so, he was unaware of the stealthy movements of a figure on the rooftop above them as he moved slowly closer.

It was d'Artagnan, out of the corner of his eye as he was fighting, who saw the movement of the lone figure.

Just as he yelled, "Athos, above you!" the man took aim.

A moment later, Aramis screamed as the bullet hit him. Athos caught him before he could crumple to the ground, shock registering on his face.

Porthos, having heard the scream, was forced to keep his attention on the trip men he was fighting, but worry began eating away at him.

Athos, cradling Aramis in his arms, one-handedly pulled open his doublet, his stomach dropping as he saw the blood soaking the shirt underneath.

Raising his voice to be heard by his opponents, his voice full of pain, his words tore at his brothers' hearts, even as those same words brought an end to the furious fighting and the retreat of the men from the Court of Miracles: "Murderers! You killed him!"

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_**Just a reminder: I don't write death-fics.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A somewhat short chapter this week, as I am in the middle of car trouble.**_

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"Are they...gone," the words came quietly from Aramis.

Athos, holding his brother in his arms, was completely startled by the question, and who it was from.

"Aramis?" he said softly, staring at his brother. Then, "Lay still until we can check your wound."

"It's just a deep graze, Athos," Aramis responded. "I will be..." stopping when his body painfully protested his attempt at movement.

"Lie still," Athos repeated his admonition with a firm hand on Aramis' shoulder to keep him from moving.

Porthos and d'Artagnan had joined them now, both of them's faces reflecting their this, Aramis began attempting to reassure them.

"Wh..who is the medic here?"

They just looked at him, staring at the blood-soaked shirt.

"I am t...telling you this is just a deep graze. I will b..be fine", his reassurance not quite as confident as he wanted it to be because of the stutter he found himself with from the pain.

"It didn't lodge inside. I..it t..traveled across instead. That's w..why all the blood."

"Forgive us if we need to check you out, Aramis. You do tend to tell us you are all right when you are not", Athos told him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

With a sigh, Aramis waved a hand to tell them to go ahead.

Athos tried the door to the building they were next to, and it creaked open. From the looks of the building, he had already assumed it was unoccupied, and was relieved to have been correct in his assumption. At least, if the attackers came back, it would look as if they had left.

Finding an old lantern against the wall near the door, they soon had a little light to check Aramis out.

They found that the bullet had indeed grazed him, but a fairly deep furrow. It wasn't life-threatening, and they all breathed deeply in relief. But it would still be painful for a few days.

Aramis refrained from saying he had told them so, his mouth just wearing a hint of a smile.

Porthos tore a piece of his shirt off, and they wrapped it around Aramis' torso to stop the bleeding.

Aramis tried getting up, and was instantly told not to do so by Athos. Porthos, over Aramis' protests that he was perfectly able to walk back with them, lifted up his brother into his arms for the fairly short distance back to the garrison.

They insisted that Aramis go to bed as soon as they had returned, and since he was rather exhausted by the evening's events, he complied.

Porthos laid himself down on the floor near his brother's bed to sleep for the night. Aramis had said he didn't need anyone to stay with him, but when he was smilingly ignored, gave up and gave in to the sleep his was insistently letting him know he needed.

Athos sought out Treville, and let him know what had transpired.

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Aramis woke early the next morning, and as soon as he tried to move, felt a sharp pain warning him to lay still.

As he lay quietly waiting for it to subside, he smiled as he looked down at his sleeping brother. What had he done to have been so blessed with his friends, the brothers he had been given? He would never know, but was eternally grateful for their presence in his life, for their love which he returned wholeheartedly with every fiber of his being.

Starting to shift his body, it protested again painfully. He decided he had better stay put for now.

Closing his eyes, he gradually went back to sleep.

Later that morning, he awoke again, finding himself looking up at the serious face of Dr. Lemay.

"Your brothers are concerned for you, and asked me to come", Lemay told him.

"I will be fine," Aramis replied, noticing all three of his brothers in the background.

"Why don't I just take a look while I'm here," Lemay said, already undoing Aramis' shirt.

When the wound was exposed, the gash looked reddened and a little puffy around the edges.

"I'm afraid you have a slight infection forming, Aramis," Lemay told him. "I need to use some of a special poultice of mine on it, to hopefully catch it while it's beginning," noticing Aramis wrinkling up his nose at the odor emanating from the poultice. With luck, it will stay in its infancy stage and you will be fine in a day or two-provided you rest and have the mixture reapplied twice a day-and remain in bed," knowing how Aramis would hate his last recommendation.

"We will be keeping an eye on him", Athos said, catching the look Aramis gave him which said 'traitor'.

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Later in the afternoon, Aramis began to get feverish, tossing and turning until Porthos held him still so that he wouldn't disturb the wound.

His head was quite hot when Athos laid the back of his hand against it. Aramis wasn't asleep, but wasn't alert either. He didn't respond to anything said to him.

They were successful in getting him to take some water, however. They considered that a minor victory. But there was no way he was going to be able to eat anything.

As normal when when one of them was injured or ill, the others divided up their time sitting with him. Especially in Aramis' case, he needed touch to let him know that someone was there. It was one of the results of being alone for days with dead bodies at Savoy.

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The fever gradually calmed down after a day and a half, leaving Aramis exhausted and limp.

His brothers were finally able to get him to eat some chicken broth and a bit of bread, washed down with plenty of water. He wanted more water than they would let him have, and they repeated his own past admonitions to him that if he drank very much too soon, it would likely come back up.

He also thought he was well enough to get up, but they refused to let him push himself so soon. He hated being confined to bed and they knew it, and watched him like hawks.

He gave a deep dramatic sigh, giving in as he saw he had no choice in the matter. His brothers just smiled, knowing he would keep trying.

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After a few days confined to his bed, Aramis was finally allowed to get up. But he found that he would have to stay within the garrison until further notice. No missions. No palace duty. And no evenings out at The Wren or other favorite taverns they enjoyed visiting.

Athos explained to him that his words at the time of the attack were meant to hopefully bring a halt to any more threats or attacks against him. He told Aramis that if he was seen, word would be carried back to the Court in no time.

This way he continued, seeing Aramis about to protest, they would have a better chance to hopefully find out who was after him-and stop them.

"I know you not like this plan, Aramis, but it is our best chance to put an end to this threat."

Aramis could see that there wasn't anything he could say that would change things, and said so, "But it doesn't mean I have to like it," he sadly said.


	4. Chapter 4

After more than a week of garrison duties, Aramis was bored nearly to tears.

He had drilled the cadets so long and hard, they were more than eager to have been sent on a mock mission with one of the other seasoned musketeers.

He had inspected, cleaned and polished every firearm in the garrison armory-multiple times.

He did some target practice, but for him, it was much too easy to hit the bull's eye every time he pulled the trigger.

He ended up asking Treville if he had any paperwork he could work on, something he normally avoided like the plague.

When his brothers returned from a day of palace duty, he met them at the gates, frustration plainly written on his face.

"Athos, I need…"

"To get out of the garrison for a while," Athos smoothly finished his brother's sentence. "We were just discussing the topic on our walk back."

"And…? he asked, scarcely daring to hope they had finally decided to break him out of the monotony of the past…...how long had he been restricted? A week? Two?

"How would you like to rejoin us for a short mission?"

Sweeter words could not have been said to him at the moment! If he had been a child, he probably would have bounced up and down for joy.

His brothers had watched as his face lit up with joy.

"When?" he asked, eager to leave as soon as possible.

"Tomorrow morning. But Aramis…" Athos began, hesitating to tell his brother what they and Treville had decided about the beginning of the mission.

"Something is wrong?" Aramis asked, wondering what Athos was hesitant to tell him.

Glancing over at Porthos and d'Artagnan, be turned back to Aramis, saying, "We need to keep you undetected whilst leaving Paris. The Court of Miracles has eyes in many places, and it would not do for them to become aware of our departure. We could be followed and ambushed."

Because of how reluctant they were him how he was to leave Paris, Aramis was both very curious and a little apprehensive.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked.

With one more look at his other brothers, Athos met Aramis' eyes as he said, "The only way we could determine might work would be to bring you out of Paris with the dead in the…" stopping at the look on his brother's face at his words.

Aramis was looking at him with horror at the thought.

Athos, trying not to think of his brother in amongst the dead, continued. "Treville has made arrangements with the men who make various stops in the city for the dead. They will come within the gates at sunrise."

Aramis was having a difficult time thinking about being in a cart filled with…bodies. He shuddered, and when Athos saw it, he said softly, "Aramis, you do not have to do this. If you can just stay here in the garr...," but Aramis shook his head.

"I am a Musketeer. The life of a Musketeer involves many forms of discomfort, danger. I…" he hesitated just a moment. "I can do this. I will be ready in the morning."

Portho clapped him on the back, then slung an arm around his shoulders, leading the way to the refectory for their evening meal, followed closely by Athos and d'Artagnan.

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Next morning, they all met in the courtyard before sunrise and waited for the cart.

Aramis had put an old uniform on, and wrapped a scarf tightly over his lower face in hopes of avoiding much of the stench he was afraid would permeate the vehicle. He wasn't looking forward to the 'escape' at all, but tried to focus on being out on a mission with his brothers once again after they left Paris.

When the old wagon rattled through the garrison gates, Aramis took a deep breath. 'I can do this', he told himself.

The wagon lurched to a stop, and the driver leaned down to have a word with Atho, who then came over to Aramis.

"He says he will stop about a half mile outside the southern gate. We will rendezvous there. If anyone were to see us accompanying this wagon, they would be bound to wonder, so we will not raise their suspicions." Stopping, he looked closely at Aramis. "Are you still sure you want to do this?"

Aramis answered, "It won't be easy, but I can do it," walking over to the back of the wagon as he spoke.

The driver, who had climbed down from his seat, came around the back and lifted the cover.

There were only two 'passengers', but as far as Aramis was concerned, that was two too many. Heaving a sigh, be climbed up into the cart, and after hesitating a moment, lay down as far to the side of the two bodies as he had space to do. He nodded his head once, and the cover was dropped, leaving him in the darkness with the bodies.

His brothers mounted and urged their horses towards the gates first, before heading down the streets towards the southern gate, not wanting to be in company with the slower-moving cart.

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Aramis had to take a couple of deep breaths to quiet his horror at his situation. He was very uncomfortably aware of what was under the cover with him. It was unlike any situation he had ever found himself in.

He had caused deaths in his life, as well as saved lives as a soldier.

He had saved lives as well as lost patients to death as a medic.

But this. This was…..he who was so fluid with words couldn't find the proper ones to describe his thoughts and feelings right now.

He finally realized that instead of trying to put his feelings into words, he needed to turn to prayer. And, as it usually did for him, calmed him down as much as was possible. His fingers found the wood beads of his rosary that was always with him, and silent prayers quieted him.

He lost track of time and was honestly surprised when the wagon lurched to a halt.

A moment later, the cover lifted and he found himself the subject of his brothers' concerned gazes.

Smiling, he told them, "I made it!" Then, in a more urgent voice, "Get me out of here!"

Athos and Porthos each extended a hand, Aramis latching on to them as if he would never let go. They pulled him up and out of the wagon and Aramis gave all three of them each a very heartfelt hug.

He shivered in remembrance of what he had just gone through, then looked upward in a silent prayer of thanks.

He changed into a clean uniform that d'Artagnan had waiting for him, then they mounted and rode off to begin their mission.

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They would be gone for the week at least, retrieving a gift for the king, being given by an elderly, bed-ridden nobleman at his Loire Valley chateau.

Aramis, released from his ordeal, was now full of energy, regaling his brothers with humor and tall tales. His brothers just enjoyed his happiness.

They had excellent weather for traveling: warm sunshine in a blue sky dotted here and there with puffy white clouds. Small farms dotted the landscape, all of them some distance off.

"The King hasn't been in the valley for some time," d'Artagnan said.

"So his nobles haven't either," Porthos added.

"They only come here to be near him and curry favor with him," Athos said. "They build their chateaux to impress him, then spend most of their time at Chambord*."

"It does make the valley a lovely area," Aramis said. "It is called the garden of France. Someday, I would like to spend some time here."

"We can enjoy it for a few days. Treville told me that this Come takes forever readying his gifts, which are usually in the form of birds, animals or plants," Athos commented. "He often has the King send men to collect the gift but hasn't completed arrangements for it to be ready when they arrive. So I would imagine we might have a little time for ourselves.

Aramis' smile broadened, obviously looking forward to a few days which would be for them, a form of vacation.

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After relaxing and enjoying the beauty surrounding them for three days, the comte had the gift for Louis ready to go. The delay had been for the elderly nobleman to receive delivery of the two snow-white prized stallions from a cousin, in order to now send them to the King.

D'Artagnan volunteered to take charge of the horses, having had experience working with horses in Gascony.

They began their slow journey back north next morning. The weather couldn't have been better the whole trip.

Partway back, Athos dropped back to ride alongside Aramis.

"Did you want us to simply come back through Paris in the middle of the night?" he asked. "We did not want to subject you to the form of transportation used as we were leaving again," not voicing his horror during the trip out of Paris at the thought of his brother in that cart. "It is not as dangerous coming back as it was going out. By the time anyone could see us and get back to the Court, it would be too late for them to do anything."

Aramis just nodded a little sadly. It had been easy to forget while they had been away and surrounded by beauty, that angry men wanted to take his life.

"It's fine, my friend. I am content to just do it whichever way you decide."

Athos could both see and hear the sadness in his brother.

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They re-entered Paris much past midnight. The streets were for the most part, completely deserted.

Reaching the garrison, the weary Musketeers took care of their horses, as well as the King's gifts, before wearily heading for their rooms and sleep. They would bring the King's horses to the palace in the morning.

All was quiet.

No one was outside the garrison as a short, wiry-built man emerged from a house a few doors away, pulled his hat lower over his face, as he began to make his way through the darkened, empty streets to the Court of Miracles.

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_**I would love to write a story down the line with the Musketeers in this valley for a longer mission. It's one of my favorite places in the world.**_

_**Chambord is one of the royal chateaux. It started out as the King's hunting lodge, but over the centuries it grew. I have visited it, and it is huge! To give you some idea of it's size, it's fireplaces and chimneys number over 400.**_

_**Many of the members of the courts of succeeding generations of Kings built their lovely chateaux,and today they still don't the countryside of the Loire Valley, dozens of them. I have visited 5.**_

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_**For those of you also following my Tags, Whump and One-shot series, I may have a new tag for Spoils of War by tomorrow or Tuesday, if all goes well. Otherwise, it will be Saturday, as usual.**_


	5. Chapter 5

Aramis had quite enjoyed himself on their unexpected 'vacation'. The beauty. Quiet. Peace. No threats, just time with his brothers.

He came back refreshed, and hoping against hope to be allowed to resume his normal duties. But their morning meal dashed all his hopes.

They had just begun to eat, when the saw the cadet on watch at the gates have a rather heated short discussion with a ragged-looking older man.

The man flung up his arms and turned, leaving rather upset, while the cadet headed in their direction, carrying a bag.

Reaching their table, he said, "I did ask the man who was just here who paid him to deliver something like this, but he said 'he wasn't risking his life snitching on those evil men'." Looking rather sadly at Aramis, he continued, "It has your name on it."

Curious now, Aramis reached out to take the bag, only for Athos' hand to get there first. Aramis looked at his brother with a question in his eyes.

"Aramis, you would agree that this bag's arrival was a little suspicious? Just to be on the safe side, allow me to check first?" already opening the tie at the top.

Looking inside, he recoiled slightly, a shocked look spreading across his face.

"Aramis, seeing this, asked, "What is it? Why..."

Recovering himself, Athos answered, "I would prefer that you not subject yourself to seeing the contents of this bag, Aramis," looking at the others as he said this.

Aramis, however, had seen the glance. "I am not a child, and don't need protecting like one. If you will not allow me to see the contents, would you at least tell me what it is?"

Athos responded, "Of course you are not a child, and I am sorry if I have given you that impression, Aramis. But I care very much for you. I believe this," indicating the bag in question with a disgusted gesture, "comes from the men who have threatened you."

Understanding now showed in Aramis' expression. Still, he wanted to know what it was.

"It is, or was, a rooster. It's head has been cut off, and it's body...rather badly abused. It is clearly a threat being sent, Aramis."

Aramis, despite knowing the men after him were bad, was still shocked at the way this current threat had been delivered.

Porthos inwardly was raging. How dare the people he had lived amongst as a child threaten his best friend, a man who would give his life to protect the people of their country, including the people of the Court of Miracles. They had lived with Charon. Did they not see how ruthless he could be? Did they not know that Aramis had only been preventing his brother from being knifed?

Each of the Musketeers' thoughts were on a similar vein.

To send such an obvious threat. To deliver it to one of the King's elite guard.

Their boldness was astonishing. Yet, they hid in the shadows. They knew none of the culprits' identities.

If they informed the King about what had been going on, he would quite likely have the Court razed to the ground, the good with the bad. Yes, these unknown men lived in the Court of Miracles. But so did many people for whom the place was the only home they had ever known. If the Court were destroyed, most of its residents would have no roof over their heads. The streets would become their home.

And if Richelieu heard of this problem, as he surely would being the King's First Minister and being the person the King always turned to for advice, it would definitely be utterly destroyed.

Aramis realized all this, as did his brothers. He knew they would keep him under an even tighter guard than before. He understood how they felt, but when would he ever be able to live his life normally again?

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In a dingy, run-down shack located in the Court of Miracles, a group of rough-looking men were gathered.

"This is taking too long," one of them said, lifting a bottle to his lips.

"We are in no hurry," another said. "We just have to wait until he gets tired of being hemmed in at the garrison. It's too bad that we never saw them leave for a few days. It would have been so much easier outside the city walls."

"Right. Now we have to sit on our hands until he and his friends make a mistake,"another of the disgruntled group growled.

Another man had quietly come in the door while they were talking, leaning on the wall in the shadows, listening to their remarks.

Now, he slowly pushed himself off the wall, coming into the light. Startled, the group at the table looked around at each other nervously. They all knew the temper their leader had.

They watched as he rounded the table and took an empty seat. Pouring himself a glass of the wine in the center of the table, his gaze moved from one man to the next, catching their eyes.

"So, you're not happy with the situation, hmm? When have any of you known me to fail at something I've set my mind to?"

They sat without speaking, because they knew he spoke the truth. The man was utterly ruthless, and nothing ever deterred him from what he wanted. They all were also glad none of them were the focus of the vengeance he was filled with now.

He kept silence for a few more moments before speaking.

"It so happens that our opportunity will come this very night."

The men's faces showed their complete surprise at his words. Leaning closer, they waited for him to explain.

"The Musketeer's friends have palace duty all day well into the night. One of my sources heard them soon after they had left their garrison this morning. Seems the King's sister is here from England for a visit, and he is throwing some big party for her. The Musketeer's can't leave until it's over."

"How does that help us? The Musketeer hasn't been leaving the garrison when his brothers are gone, do we can't get him."

"Do you seriously think I don't know that?" he derisively asked. "I also know who the guard at the gate will be-a green cadet. If we can't overcome a young cadet that's still wet behind the ears, then we shouldn't deserve any success. We are going to take our quarry right out from where he feels safest!"

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Aramis had been downcast for some time after his brothers had left,before finally reflecting that he was better than this. He decided to make the best of his present situation, instead of moping, as he saw it.

He thought about it long and hard, then headed across the courtyard and up the wooden stairs, before knocking on Treville's door. The least he could do was lend a hand where he knew it was always sorely needed.

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Aramis left Treville's office right before the evening meal, finding himself looking forward to one of Serge's hot meals.

He tried his best to be his normal, talkative self, talking and joking wiht the others at the meal, and actually found that he had enjoyed his day, as he headed back to his room.

Opening his door and stepping inside, he removed his hat. A big hand wound around his mouth, clamping down tightly,while at the same time, two more sets of hands took a brutally tight hold of his arms, forcing them behind his back.

In complete silence, they forced him over to his own bed and face down on the mattress. Aramis attempted to struggle free, only for the men holding his arms behind him to swiftly twist them up his back, bringing him to a halt unless he wanted his arms to break. In swift movements, they produced some rope and bound his wrists, giving the rope an extra yank tighten them as much as possible. His ankles were next, given the same treatment.

The hand was removed from his mouth, and Aramis opened his mouth to yell, only for something very hard wrapped in a thick rag to be pushed into his mouth, cutting off any sound. A cloth was used to bind his mouth closed.

A voice speaking in little more than a hiss sounded close to his left ear, as a knife blade was suddenly at his throat, forcing his head back."You are about to begin a painful journey, one that will end in your death. You will be very sorry you killed the finest man I've ever known."

They all then sat down. One of them sat down on his legs to keep him from attempting to move. Aramis couldn't see them very well, but they had ranged themselves around his room, as if they were waiting.

He knew, from the tightness of the ropes, that his arms would be numb before long. His mouth was in pain not only because of the cloth stretching the corners of his mouth back, but also from whatever was inside the cloth that was pressing on his tongue.

What were they waiting for? Not his brothers? Please, don't let his brothers be hurt.

After what seemed like forever, one of them who had returned from outside said in a whisper, "They've all retired."

So they were making sure no Musketeers would be around when they left, Aramis realized. They've planned this down to the smallest detail.

He was now lifted and deposited in a burlap grain bag.. It became much harder to breathe, and his body couldn't move at all.

They were moving, his body jolting as it swung between the men now carrying him. He wished he could make even the slightest sound to alert someone, but he had been rendered very efficiently helpless.

Once they were out of sight of the garrison, he was hefted over the shoulder of one of the men-to carried like a bag of grain or potatoes, Aramis bitterly thought. These men had kidnapped him in the midst of the garrison of King's own guards,without a shot fired or anyone even realizing it was happening'.

As he continued to be carried, his stomach jostling against the man's shoulder, he fought hard to keep from losing the meal he had just finished before heading for an early night in his room. With his mouth sealed, it would be dangerous to have happen.

He thought he had never felt so powerless or helpless in his life.

Was he indeed being taken to his death?


	6. Chapter 6

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan thought the party would never be over. They just didn't want to spend do much time away from their brother, especially after that hideous delivery to him.

But they and Treville didn't have any choice in the matter. When Louis grew more and more insistent as Treville as gently as possible suggested other Musketeers for the duty, he gave in before the King had one of his famous tantrums.

Finally, things drew to a close, and they were allowed to return to the garrison.

Reaching the gates, they decided to check in on Aramis, even though it was so late.

Quietly knocking on the door, there was no answer. Trying twice, Porthos simply opened the door.

Looking in, they saw the blanket and a large mound under it. Smiling, they were happy to see that he had been able to catch some sleep, something he hadn't had much of lately.

Pulling the door softly closed, they began to head for their rooms when a shout of 'Athos!' stopped them in their tracks. Turning, they saw one cadet partially supporting another as they headed for the Musketeers.

"Athos," said the one helping his fellow cadet,"I found Georges out cold at his watch post. "He said someone must have hit him from behind."

A cold feeling enveloped them as they heard this, and without a word, they turned as one and literally ran back towards Aramis' room. They pushed the door open, heading for the bed. When they found that only pillows were under the blankets, they felt sick to have fallen for such a ruse.

They knew they needed to let Treville know first. They wanted to head for the Court of Miracles immediately, but as volatile a community as they had to deal with, the Captain had to be informed first, in case their 'invasion' caused a major disturbance.

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After silently listening to the Captain berate them for falling for the kidnappers trick (and feeling they deserved every word, as they had all been silently taking themselves seriously to task already), in spite of their vehement objections, Treville told them not to head for the Court of Miracles at that time of night. It the Court was dangerous in the daytime, at night it would be ten times worse. The Captain hated to delay, but he also didn't need three more of his best men ambushed.

They all knew how difficult it would be to search the place. It was full of ramshackle buildings, most of which looked like they would collapse at any moment. The 'streets' were narrow, dirt tracks, with the buildings leaning over them.

They could be attacked from many angles with no warning, not only by the kidnappers, but there were many inhabitants in the community who practiced pickpocketing, break-ins, and other crimes, and they would resent intrusions by the King's guards.

None of them slept that night, just stayed together in Athos' room-waiting. When the very first rays of light lit the sky, they were already heading out the gates.

The Musketeers had secreted extra pistols and knives on themselves. They couldn't afford to be taken out with Aramis helpless somewhere within the rabbit warren he was being held in.

They figured before even trying to search, they needed to speak to Flea first. Since she was now the de facto leader of the community, she may have heard something that may possibly give them a clue of where to start looking, and might be able to rein in the more volatile members living there.

None of them had seen much of the Court of Miracles. They had gone in as far as they needed to to find Porthos, but the place was so dingy and dark, it was hard to see a lot, and they didn't stay long to 'sightsee afterwards'. It felt like they were going in blind, but they were determined.

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Aramis hoped his brothers could find him. He had been praying continuously for this since he had been taken.

He couldn't tell where he was in the black void he now found himself in. He assumed it was somewhere in the Court of Miracles, given that was where his kidnappers resided. They may, though, have figured that was too obvious a choice of where to hide him. But he had no way of knowing for sure.

They had pulled him out of the burlap bag when they reached this room, cell, or whatever it was. Putting a knife against his throat kept him from trying anything as they swiftly unbound his hands and feet.

Pulling off his boots, and thenusing a sharp blade, one of the men sliced right through his doublet, shirt and breeches, leaving him only his brakes. Aramis instantly felt the slight chill of the room he was in.

His wrists were then shackled together, and attached in front of him to a chain locked around his waist. His ankles were also shackled to a bolt in the floor in front of him. His gag was now removed, the only thing about the whole process that he could glad about. But his neck was now encased by a wide metal collar and then attached to a ring on the wall behind him, its length severely limiting his range of movement to about two feet, and not allowing him to stand or lay down at all, just sit.

He wondered whether they would give him any food or water. Even if they did, could he trust it not to have had anything added to it, poison, sleeping powders, or the like. He also wondered if he would ever be given any light, or would he be kept in darkness.

Just as this thought ran through his mind, he heard a bolt being drawn back. Why lock the door he mused, as if I could even get as far as the door.

Four men filed in, the lower halves of their faces shrouded by kerchiefs. Walking into the room, the first man walked to the walls, where he lit torches from the one he carried.

Aramis could now see otherwise plain walls, except for what adorned them, making his blood run cold. Whips and other devices he usually only saw in prisons, surrounded him on three sides, only the wall he was chained to relatively bare.

The second man who had entered the room was obviously the leader, as Aramis had just seen two of the men speak quietly to him in a slightly deferential manner.

The man stood looking down at his prisoner, a slight smile playing around his lips.

"You thought you were going to get away with killing Charon. We're here to begin punishing you for his murder, Musketeer. And when we are finished, we will execute you in a manner that will satisfy our thirst for justice."

Aramis couldn't believe what he had heard. They seriously think I murdered Charon, ran through his head. I am willing to bet word of the incident flew all over the Court the same night it happened.

"I killed someone protecting my…," he was cut off by one of the men who had moved to his side, pulling his head back by the hair and once more laying the knife under his chin.

"One more sound out of you, and you will be gagged again," warned the lead man."This is not a trial. You have already been found guilty. We are in charge of your punishment and death. The punishment will begin tomorrow. We will let you anticipate it. For now, we will just leave you with a small welcome," gesturing to the other two men, as the one with the knife released Aramis.

The two men left for a moment, coming back with two large pails. Aramis looked at them, then at the pails with a question in his eyes.

All four of them just grinned, the leader saying, "You looked a little cool when we walked in. This will get you used to the cold," nodding his head as a signal.

The first man stepped forward and upended his bucket, a shower of icy water falling over Aramis', who gasped at the cold. It was quickly followed by the second man's bucket.

"Anticipate tomorrow well, Musketeer," was said as they all left, and the door was again bolted.

Aramis was shivering, not able to even wrap his arms around himself to ease the cold a little.

He began to pray harder that his brothers would find him soon.

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Next morning, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan were at the entrance to the Court of Miracles as the sun came up. They asked a man keeping watch to let Flea know they were there to see her.

The man gave them a look, then, without speaking, turned on his heel and headed further into the Court.

"Think she will get our message?" d'Artagnan asked with a slightly doubtful expression.

"If she doesn't, and Flea finds out later, I wouldn't want to be than man," Porthos replied.

Several minutes later, Flea appeared walking towards them, walking right up to Porthos and kissing him on the cheek.

"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing the expressions on their faces.

"Have you had any word in the Court about a kidnapping?" Porthos asked. They had figured he should be the one to question Flea, since he had a history with her.

"No, I haven't. Who has …" but form the expressions she had noticed a moment earlier, she realized it must be personal. Then, she noticed the foursome was only three. The handsome man, whom Porthos had once told he was his best friend in the world, was missing. The one who was courtly and polite to her, even if she lived in a place like this.

"Is it Aramis?" she asked, hoping she was wrong. "You are all usually together."

"I'm afraid it is, Flea," Porthos confirmed her fears. "Have you heard anything at all?"

She shook her head sadly. "I am sorry to have guessed correctly. I was so hoping I would be wrong. I'm so sorry to be right. But I haven't heard anything out of the ordinary. Why would anyone have taken him, though?"

"They tried to kill him a few weeks ago. They haven't been hiding that they are after him, Flea. The morning of the day he disappeared, they paid an elderly man to deliver a bag to Aramis-a beheaded rooster that had been tortured-and a note addressed to Aramis."

Flea looked shocked, but asked, "Why do you think someone from here has taken him?"

"Because they have made it clear that they believe Aramis murdered Charon, and they intend to have their vengeance."

"But Aramis had no choice. Charon was inches from killing you, Porthos!"

"Exactly. But they seem to be thinking another way."

"You must be frantic. They might already have…" stopping herself. They didn't need to hear that right now.

"I haven't heard anything so far, but I have people I can trust who will keep their eyes and ears open." She started to walk away, then turned back, saying, "You can search here as much as you need to. You let me know if anyone gives you a hard time. They won't be here long if they do."

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan took her her offer mediately, grimly making their way into the maze that was the Court of Miracles, all of them with hands hovering near their pistols.

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There was no way that Aramis could sleep that night. He was shivering violently from being soaked in the cold atmosphere of his prison.

He was trying to stay optimistic that his brothers would find him. But he was beginning to think he had been taken underground, maybe a cellar of a building, because of the stillness and cold air permeating the place. How would they ever figure out where he was?

They had been so determined that they were going to keep him safe. How could any of us figure that they invade our garrison, he thought. He felt desolation trying to get a foothold in him, but he fought it off.

He heard a bolt being drawn back, and felt himself tense up inside. It must be morning, he thought. They had said to 'anticipate' it, but it was said more as a threat than a comment. He tried hard to wipe the memory of what the walls of his prison contained.

The four men again filed in.

Reaching him, the leader said, "We have decided we need to dry you off a bit. The thought came to us that you just might contract pneumonia or something and die, and we would be deprived of all your punishment."

In silence, the men produced blankets which they used to dry him off, manhandling him in the process. While Aramis was grateful-to God, not them-to be a little warmer as well as dry, the man's sinister words did nothing to ease his mind.

Any hopes he had that he might be given a blanket against the next night's coolness were dashed when they turned to leave, the leader taunting him with "now, we'll not be denied our pleasure. Of course, I doubt very much if you will find any pleasure in our activities tomorrow, Musketeer," while the others snickered at his words.

The door was slammed behind them, and the bolt shoved across, leaving Aramis once more in the dark.

'If they are hoping to break me before they kill me, they have another thing coming', he told himself, turning once more to prayer, before trying to find a little sleep leaning back against the wall behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

_**This is a rather short chapter. I had no time this week to write more. We were extremely involved getting ready to, and then having, a huge event at my church to feed the poor and homeless for Christmas. I didn't get to my Tags, Whump and One-shots at all! This week should be back to normal hopefully. Thanks for being patient, and a huge thank you as always for reading, reviewing, following my fanfics! It encourages and inspires me.**_

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It must be morning, Aramis mused to himself, as he heard the bolt being drawn back once again. He tried to tell himself he wasn't nervous or apprehensive about the men's threats, but only a fool would dismiss them. But he didn't intend to let them see any weakness in him.

They came in as they had before, single-file, heading across the room to him, one man splitting off to light the overhead torches along the walls.

Aramis, watching them, didn't see them bring anything in with them that they could use on him. Neither did he see the the man lighting the torches remove anything from the walls.

Inwardly taking a small sigh of relief, he thought they were still delaying the promised 'punishment'-until they got up close and he saw the gleam in the leader's eyes. Uh oh, he thought. Something is up.

"Ready for your punishment, Musketeer," he taunted.

Aramis just silently stared back at him, not giving an inch.

It seemed to rile the man, who was the type of person who liked to intimidate and threaten.

"You won't be so silent after we begin," he growled at his prisoner, nodding his head at his men.

Two of them grabbed hold of his arms in iron grips, while the third man unlocked the shackle of his right wrist, then forcing it to lie flat on a short-legged small table he had pulled over from behind Aramis' eyesight.

Despite his intentions to be stoic, Aramis couldn't help a little shiver running up his spine that the men laying hold of him could, in all probability, feel in him.

The leader now reached out with both hands and grasped his middle finger at both ends. Aramis found it harder to stay still as he now realized what the man intended to do.

His eyes must have shown something of his apprehensiveness, because the man laughed, saying, "You figured it out, did you? It won't do you any good in your position, though, will it?"

And with those words, the man grinned and snapped Aramis' finger, bringing from the marksman a howl of pain.

He was quickly reshackled, unable to even pull his injured hand against his body. It throbbed, the joint now at a decidedly odd angle.

The men put the torches out in silence, then left, the leader calling out, "Don't worry. We'll have something different to try next time.

Alone again, the silent plea came in an anguished whisper: please, brothers, find me-before it's too late.

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After a restless night and a hand with shooting pains from the broken finger, Aramis awaited the return of his tormentors.

What do they plan for today, ran through his head. Not that there is anything I can do to prevent it, he dejectedly thought.

He was very concerned about his broken finger. If it wasn't splinted, it could permanently be crooked as it was now.

But he couldn't prevent his mind from thinking 'if I even survive'.

He couldn't tell what time of day or night it was, but it seemed a longer time had passed from the last time they had come

After another frustrating period trying to doze off, he finally gave up.

They still haven't come. Not that he relished being tormented again, but if something had happened to them, he would die down here chained up as he was.

The time stretched on with no sign of them.

.

Then, the unwanted thought ran through his mind, "what if this is how they plan to kill me? Trapped without food, water or light in this wretched place?

And still the time passed.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan searched until long after dark, hoping against hope that they would find their brother, or at least some kind of clue as to where he might be

They were all very aware of being watched, some looking out furtively from doors or windows, the bolder ones staring at them as they passed on the street. Some looks were curious, while others werelp outright hostile. All they could do is ignore them, but they continued to keep their hands near their weapons.

They finally call it a day long past supperttime, considering it even less safe at night. They were discouraged, but vowed they would be back first thing in the morning.

Flea could see the dejection and fear they weren't voicing. They loved their brother, and the longer he wasn't found the greater the chance that they never would.

She told them she would keep her eyes and ears

open. Occasionally, something would be happening in the Court, and someone would come to her figuring she needed to know about it She said if she heard anything at all, she would come to the garrison.

They were nearly to the edge of the Court,when Athos felt a hand on his elbow. Whipping around fiercely, his expression changed as he saw the timid man who stood before .

He said, "Can I help you?"

The man glanced nervously around, then spoke in a barely audible voice, "Not here."

Athos' heart gave a jolt as he said, "Just nod yes or shake your head no...is this to do with our friend."

The man gulped, then gave a swift bob of his head.

"Where?" Athos asked quietly.

"Rue Des Monteurs, number seven at dawn," he blurted out, then fled, disappearing down an alleyway.

The street named was not in the Court of Miracles. The man probably didn't want to chance being seen with them again.

All three of them's eyes met, a glimmer of hope dawning in them. Maybe this would lead to their hopefully finding Aramis.

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Later, after the Musketeers had gone, the man who had talked to Athos slowly walked back to his ramshackle little home. Before he reached it, though, he felt something sharp prick his neck.

Freezing, he heard an angry, hissing voice in his ear. "You dare to betray your own! You don't want to know what is going to happen to you for that," as several other men emerged from the shadows.

People watched, but didn't say a word, as they took him by the arms and dragging him away, the man despaired of seeing another sunrise.

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Aramis continued to sit in the cold and dark for what seemed like an eternity. Without freedom of movement, the only thing left for him to occupy his time were his thoughts.

His stomach was growling, his tongue and whole mouth were bone dry, and his body was cramping from being in the same position for…how many days?

There was no light, no sound. Not even the skitterings of mice or rats that often occupied places such as this.

He had long ago given up attempting to pick the locks of the shackles. These men had planned well.

Even though he and his brothers knew the men who had taken him were from the Court of Miracles, it was literally an impossible place to search. There was no end of possible hiding places. Not only that, but his brothers had another disadvantage. These men had probably lived here all their lives, and were intimately aware of the layout.

He was beginning to feel how hopeless his situation was, but tried hard to maintain a hopeful outlook.

We've been in many difficult and dangerous situations, and always have triumphed over them, he thought. I've been called a cat with nine lives for escaping what looked like sure death many times. But his treacherous mind was slowly beginning to speak to him that the situation could very well be hopeless this time.

They will be surrounded in their search by people who felt they had no reason to like or trust authority, which the Musketeers represented. The King had never done anything for them. Why should they help the soldiers who came in his name?

Surprisingly, even as these thoughts passed one after another through his mind, his body finally gave into the sleep which had been evading him.


	8. Chapter 8

When Aramis awoke, it was still dark, it was still silent, and he was still utterly alone. He had no idea for how long they had left him.

His body hard grown even more cramped from being restrained in the same position for so long, except for his hands and feet, which were totally numb now.

His broken finger throbbed without ceasing, swollen and, if he could see it, probably purple by now.

If Aramis had thought he was parched and hungry before he had succumbed to sleep, it was now far worse.

Had he indeed been left to wait for death?

The impact on his mind was every bit as devastating as on his body. Faced with possibly sitting there helplessly while his body slowly withdrew from life was a horror he wasn't ready to contemplate, yet it seemed that it was upon him.

His head slowly fell back against the wall, shaken as he had never been before.

Why? he asked himself yet again. He had done no more than saved his brother's life. If he had hesitated even a moment more, Charon's knife would have been buried in Porthos' back. He couldn't have just stood by and just let that happen.

And for that, these men were beside themselves with anger for him, utterly intent upon hurting him in any way possible. It just didn't make sense.

He felt something wet on his cheeks, and realized that, at some point, tears had begun to fall.

They continued until he again drowsed off, exhausted emotionally at the whole situation.

It was just as he was awakening once more from an uneasy sleep that he heard the bolt being drawn back.

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His brothers had spent several fruitless days of searching. The more the time passed, the more desperate they felt. Where was he hidden? What were they doing to him? Or had they already ki…no, that wasn't where their thoughts should be heading. Never there. It wasn't an option.

They were just on their way out of the garrison gates,when someone called out to them.

"Musketeers!"

A raggedy woman was racing towards them. She stopped when she reached them, gasping for breath. Her dress was ancient, but clean. Her cap was askew from her running, and several fine light brown curls had escaped to hang free on her shoulders. Her shoes were dirty and scuffed from her headlong dash to catch them.

After a few moments, she was able to speak again

"You have to come with me. He has to speak to you. He's barely alive. He's…"

Athos put a hand gently on her shoulder, saying, "Madame, we do not understand what you are trying to tell us. Who has to speak to us?"

Her eyes darted from one to another of them, nervous at speaking to three heavily-armed soldiers, then said, "The poor man from the Court of Miracles. He nearly died. I found him in an alley, covered in blood."

At the name of the Court of Miracles and an injured man, all three Musketeers became intense as she spoke. Could it be Aramis?

"You do not know this man?" Athos continued.

"I had never seen him before I found him that morning, but during one of his moments where he was conscious and spoke, he said he lived in the Court."

There went their hearts plummeting. It wasn't Aramis. But why did he want to speak to them? Did he possibly know something? They were hoping now that the man could tell them where their brother was.

Urgent now, Athos said to the woman, "You lead the way. We will come with you," and she turned back the way she had come.

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Aramis' eyes hurt when they came in and lit the torches on the wall. He had been without light for…he didn't know how long. He watched them apprehensively as they headed for him.

"Thought we weren't coming back, didn't you?" the man taunted him. "But we have so much to do yet," his laugh evil-sounding. Their absence had been deliberate then. They were playing games with his mind.

Aramis kept his silence, the threat on his first day here of being gagged if he spoke holding him back.

"We're getting more serious now. No more letting you rest and sleep all day," nodding to the other two.

One of them bent down and unlocked the shackles. They seemed to know he couldn't fight, not with numb hands.

Two of them grabbed him under his shoulders and lifted him from the floor, totally uncaring that his crowd body was now screaming in pain from being straightened so abruptly. They dragged him across the room to the wall. There were various rings in the wall, and sets of shackles lying on the floor at the wall's base.

They picked up two and pushed him back against the cold stone. Locking each wrist with a new shackle, they then lifted his arms high over his head, locking the attached chains to two of the rings, spread-eagling his arms.

His legs were chained together at the based of the wall.

"You're probably wondering what we're up to," the man who seemed to be the leader said. "Charon was my friend our whole lives. You thrust a blade into his chest, and killed my life-long friend."

He paused, obviously relishing his power over the helpless man in from of him, then went on with a snarl now in his voice."You used a blade on him. Now, we're going to use one on you. Not to kill you-yet. But you will feel what a blade can do yourself."

As he said this, he produced a wicked-looking knife from under his shirt, holding it in front of Aramis' face.

"This knife can cut through skin as easy as butter. We'll just do a few today, let you feel it," and as he spoke, he sliced the ties on Aramis' shirt, then cut it off of him, exposing more of his body to the chilly air in the room.

Aramis could feel himself tensing up, even though he didn't want these men to think they were getting to him. They had no idea that he had felt what blades could do many times in his career as a soldier.

The man barely finished cutting the shirt off, leaving it in ribbons,when he swiftly slashed the knife across Aramis' lower chest, causing the marksman to hiss from the burning pain it caused.

The man was taking his time, obviously we njoying what he was doing. Aramis had never been able to understand the mind of someone who enjoyed tormenting someone. His body was already tightening up as it anticipated where the man would strike next.

Even so, he wasn't ready when the knife scored a line from the top of his left shoulder then down several inches.

"Aren't you glad to have given me this idea, Musketeer?" he said, as he cut across Aramis' chest again, this time a little higher and deeper.

He made several more ices. But none of the cuts so far were deep enough to cause permanent harm, just a lot of agony for Aramis.

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The Musketeers followed the young woman as she wove her way expertly through a maze of streets, before finally stopping in front of a poorly-built hovel of a house at the end of a small backstreet. Opening the door, she beckoned them in.

The ceiling was barely high enough for them to stand upright. The house was basically one large room, with a small area set back where a bed lay. A small table sat in a corner, a few items on a counter near it. There was no fire lit to keep the cold away, and they wondered how she survived when winter came.

They could see someone in the bed, and the woman led them there.A man of maybe thirty-five to forty years lay on the bed, his face snd shirtless upper body littered with bruising, horrible burns and cuts, including a large one in his lower abdomen.

They thought at first that he was unconscious, but as they came up to the bed, he turned slightly glazed eyes in their direction.

"You c..came," he struggled to say.

"You have a very persuasive lady on your side," Athos said. "Who did this to you?"

"It's wh…what I h..have to t..tell you," the man said, his voice so weak they could barely hear him. "Th..they h..have a M..Musketeer at the C..Court."

At this, all three of them were listening intensely. Was it Aramis?

"The..they p..plan to h..hurt h..him, the..then k..kill him." He was stuttering so badly from pain that they had trouble following what he was saying.

"Who has him?" Athos asked.

"I c..can l..lead y..you t..to h..him i..if…" his voice trailing off as he passed out.

The Musketeers were excited and frustrated at the same time. It had to be Aramis. But who had him? And where? They had turned the place upside down hunting, but not knowing it intimately, probably missed many possibilities.

And now, this man had news of him, and had lost consciousness from an attack. What if he never woke up again?

They settled down to wait, not having any other options.

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They had left Aramis hanging on the wall when they left. He was only half-conscious, wondering if they would leave him there for days alone like the ones he had just gone through. Would this be the first of many visits with the blade? Or would they try something else next? All questions to which he had no way of knowing the answers, until they showed up again.

Would his brothers ever find him-in time?

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_**Another somewhat short chapter. Advent has been incredibly busy. I wish you all a very merry and joyous Christmas!**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**I hope there are no grammatical errors in this chapter. I had to hurriedly rewrite part of it last night, because the writing app I use deleted instead of copied the fic! I wish you a very good New Year! **_

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The men didn't come back and Aramis, exhausted by his latest ordeal, sagged into an uneasy sleep, peopled by vague shadows of knife-wielding figures.

Gasping as he finally awoke, he almost wished he hadn't.

They were back.

"We enjoyed ourselves so much last time, we decided to have a go again," he was greeted with. "We will just turn you around and give your back equal attention."

Aramis' stomach muscles clenched at hearing he would undergo the same treatment again. The shackles encircling his protesting arms were unlocked, then his ankles. The men were swift and efficient, having him turned and locked into place facing the wall in a matter of moments.

He felt fingers prod his back, then the hated voice saying, "New territory, so to speak."

He heard the man step back, and before he could even take his next breath, it was stolen from him by the blade slicing sideways down from his neck to left rib cage.

The breath he took then was a shaky stutter, before the man acted again.

Aramis wished he was not conscious, spared the torment. But unfortunately, his mind stayed too much awake until the man was once more finished with the session.

This time, they returned him to the sitting position before leaving. It didn't matter what position he was in now, though, he was still in agony.

He had never had anyone want to harm him for saving a life before. He would gladly have even given his own life if Porthos or one of his other brothers had been threatened. He loved them as he loved his own life.

He was beginning to give in to the thought that had been running through his mind. He had been in many life-threatening situations in his career. But his thought now was that he wouldn't make it out of this one.

No one but his kidnappers knew where he was. He knew for certain that his brothers had frantically been tearing apart the Court of Miracles to find him. They were excellent at tracking someone down, yet they had not found him in all this time.

This had to be somewhere that was unknown to anyone except the men holding him. Somewhere in the Court. Possibly somewhere underground, from the cool, slight dampness everpresent since he had been here. Even the fact that there were no windows could spell underground.

He would die here. He hadn't wanted to acknowledge the fact, but it was staring him in the face now. Without medical assistance, the cuts could become infected. He could tell these men didn't know very much about the body. He also knew the Court had no one who had any medical training they could have learned from. They thought the body could be abused over and over as long as there wasn't excessive bleeding, but that wasn't the only risk factor involved.

He hadn't been given much to eat or drink either. A piece of bread every now and then wouldn't sustain a man's body indefinitely. His stomach constantly growled now, and his mouth was extremely dry.

How long did they have figured for torment before they killed him? Or did they themselves not know that yet? Was someone hitherto unseen calling the shots, or was it just these four men involved?

There were so many questions, but no way of obtaining any answers. He felt that he would be long dead before he ever had the chance to find out.

Sick at heart, he began a mental rosary, his beads having been taken from him, as had everything else.

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Aramis' brothers took turns sitting with the unconscious man, hoping he would be able to wake up soon so they could ask about Aramis. But he continued to lie as still as death. The hours stretched into days, with no sign that he would ever wake up. They hoped he didn't die from the attack he had been the victim of, but they couldn't be sure. He was really their last real chance at finding their brother.

Athos was sitting with him when he finally showed signs of possibly awakening. The man's eyes were moving under his eyelids. His head then began to move weakly from side to side.

It was then that he started to speak, although his voice was barely a whisper. "They w..will kill him. They w..want revenge f..for Charon."

Athos realized the man knew exactly who had taken Aramis.

Quietly calling his brothers over, they waited as patiently as they could for the man to awaken.

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Aramis fell into an uneasy doze towards the end of his rosary. Dreaming, he called out to his brothers, "Please, find me. I don't know if I can hold on. Please come!"

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The unconscious man finally began to open his eyelids. Looking up, he saw three men he didn't know surrounding and looking down at him.

"Who are you," he asked in a barely audible voice full of the pain he was experiencing.

"You had wanted to speak to Musketeers? I am men," with a sweep of his hand indicating Porthos and d'Artagnan, "and I are Musketeers."

The man attempted a smile, but grimaced instead. "I need to speak to you. About one of the Musketeers."

"Please go on," Athos encouraged him.

"You have to rescue him. He is, without doubt, being tortured. Then, he will be killed."

"And you know this how?"

"To my shame, I used to be a part of Charon's men, as these men are."

"Why did you leave?" Athos asked in a dispassionate voice.

"I met someone and fell in love. She became my wife, and I wanted to do better for her."

"Please, go on."

"These men have been furious for months that Aramis killed Charon. They want revenge. There were rumors among some of the more unsavory men that a Musketeer had been taken. They…," he hesitated. "They must have heard me speaking to my wife about this as we walked through the streets. Then,they found me leaving the Court, and believe I betrayed them."

"Why do you care enough about Aramis to risk your life coming here?"

"Aramis came to the Court several times. He came to my wife's rescue when she was accosted and nearly raped. He was also always very nice to the children. He doesn't deserve what they are almost certainly doing to him."

"You have knowledge of where they could be holding him?"

"Yes. Charon had an underground area that no one but men close to him have ever known about. Monsieur, they are brutal men without an ounce of compassion. I have little doubt that they are tormenting him."

Pausing, he then said, "I will give you instructions on…"his eyelids trying to close now against his efforts to prevent it. "I want…want to…" his lids shut, leaving the Musketeers frustrated at having to wait yet again for the information.

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Aramis had hoped he might be given more respite from their visits,but with dread, he heard the bolt again being drawn back.

They reached him, and unlocked the shackle on his right ankle. What are they doing this time, he wondered.

One of the men grabbed the released leg and lifted it up in the air, holding it there.

Then Aramis saw the leader lean down with a torch which he waved far too close to the marksman's face. Aramis tried to lean away from it, but to no avail.

Then, the man's eyes shifted to the leg being held up. Glancing again at Aramis, he watched as dawning horror was reflected in his prisoner's eyes.

"You know what I plan to do? Pity there isn't anything you can do to prevent me", the man said, right before suddenly running the burning torch up the back of Aramis' leg causing him to scream, and go on screaming, as the men left.

The leg felt like it was in a river of burning fire. His body shuddered, his world filled with unbelievable pain.

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His brothers waited with as much patience as they could muster for the man to reawaken. Finally. Finally they saw his eyes opening once more.

When he saw them, the anxiety in their eyes, he felt bad. He could tell how much Aramis meant to them, even from the few moments he had spoken with them before.

"I can…give you the…directions," his words interrupted as he breathed through the pain his body continued to go through, but determined.

Slowly, he went through a surprisingly-detailed verbal road map of the route they needed to take. It was punctuated by landmark, such as the colorful side of a delapidated old house, a well with three vertical bricks missing, a vender's cart full of half-rotting fruits and vegetables that its own set up precisely in the same spot every day nevertheless.

D'Artagnan dutifully committed it all to paper.

By the time he was done, the man was beyond exhausted, his body protesting, finally pulling him back into sleep.

The Musketeers them armed themselves with weapons, some visible, some not. They knew it might not be only Aramis' kidnappers they would be dealing with. There were many lawless men inside the Court who would object to their presence.

Leaving, they were eager to find their brother at long last.

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The sound of the bolt being pulled back barely registered with Aramis this time, his body giving him too sharp an agony from his ordeals.

The men made their way to him yet again, the leader leaning down and grasping Aramis by the hair to get his attention.

"Tomorrow, Musketeer. Listen well. You die tomorrow," before pushing his head back and releasing him.

Turning, they left without another word.

Aramis, his eyes closed, his body screaming with pain, felt a tear escape and make it's way slowly down his face.


	10. Chapter 10

It was early morning when Aramis' brothers entered the Court cautiously, hands hovering over their weapons.

D'Artagnan kept their makeshift 'map' in his hand, in case they took a wrong turn. They had pored over it on their way from the garrison, committing much of it to memory, or in case they were interrupted through its route.

Even though it was early morning, there were quite a few people of all ages out already. Porthos occasionally nodded his head at someone he would recognize from his childhood life there, but for the most part, they were either ignored or given sullen or resentful glances.

That was, until several men emerged from a building they were passing, their faces intent and hostile. The Musketeers' hands moved slightly, now gripping their weapons.

They didn't say a word. One moment, they were stalking towards them, the next, they drew their weapons and attacked. People on the streets moved rapidly out of the area, several women screaming at the violence that ensued a moment later.

Both sides fought in silence, not a word exchanged between them. The Musketeers were, by far, superior in the use of their weapons, but the attackers fought dirty, intending to be the victors by any means necessary.

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Aramis hadn't slept after his captors left, sick at heart in the midst of the dark, the cold and the pain.

This was it.

He had never thought that he would come to the end of his life this way. He had thought maybe he would die in battle for his country with his brothers at his side. Maybe even die peacefully in his bed of old age, although he preferred the first way.

But to be killed because he had saved his brother's life, more precious to him than his own, didn't make sense. If he hadn't stopped Charon at that instant, Porthos, his big-hearted brother, would have been stabbed to death.

He waited to hear the bolt pushed back, which always signalled their visits. Then, the end would come. He just hoped it wouldn't be a long drawn-out process. He didn't have any strength left.

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Their attackers fought viciously, but Athos, Porthos and d'Arragnan had dealt with men like this before, and slowly turned the tide, finally defeating the last of the men. They wondered if these men might be part of the those who had taken Aramis, but had no way of knowing. It was also quite possible that they weren't connected to Aramis' kidnapping at all. There were quite a few men engaged in criminal behavior who lived in the Court, and would resent anyone representing the law to show their faces there.

All three of them felt an overwhelming sense of urgency to find their brother now. It was almost like they sensed the end might be near for him. Their closeness often gave them an instinct for danger to one of them.

Renewing the trail detailed for them, they moved even faster than they had before.

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At last, the dreaded sound of the bolt alerted Aramis to his captors' arrival.

He wished could stand up and stand tall in defiance of their 'decision', but even if he hadn't been locked in place by the shackles, his body was too cramped from the position to have been able to do do.

They filed across the room as always, their leader in the front.

Seeing the pistol held in his hand, Aramis thought he now knew how he would be executed. The breath he hadn't realized he was holding let out just a bit, still tense, though, at the thought of dying and so helplessly.

They just stood silently looking down at him when they reached him. It was a little unnerving, but Aramis stared right back. This seemed to make them angry. As all bullies throughout the centuries had been, they were no different. They enjoyed making their target afraid, and he was daring to show them he wasn't.

"Are you ready to die, Musketeer?" the leader taunted.

Aramis, since he was going to die anyway, at last abandoned his silence. "I am not afraid of being judged by my God for what you accuse me of," he replied quietly but defiantly.

This seemed to increase the anger they had displayed all along.

"You murder someone, and you're not afraid?" the leader said. "You have learned nothing, absolutely nothing, have you?"

"My friend, whom I love and whose life I value higher than my own, would have been murdered. Would you not do the same to protect someone you loved?" he asked, already knowing by their faces that they they wouldn't like anything he said.

"Did you learn to kill as a Musketeer or in this child-king's army?"

"I was still in my teens when I became a soldier. I saw more bloodshed than you can possibly imagine," Aramis replied softly. "It didn't make me want to kill. I followed orders as any soldier is expected to do in defense of my country and it's people, which includes all of you. It is the same as a Musketeer, but we are closer in distance to our countrymen now."

He had known it wouldn't make any difference to these men, but it was how he felt, had always felt.

"Nothing you say excuses killing Charon. Your friend turned his back on the Court where he grew up, showing no loyalty to its people. Then, he went against Charon's plans, which caused the situation he died in. You still murdered him!"

Aramis' heart sank. He hadn't really thought he could change their minds, but he had still needed to try to set the record straight in their minds, all to no avail.

"You will be shot, and afterwards, your body will hang from a post we have already set up in the middle of the Court. If your friend's ally, Flea, attempts to remove it, she will be next," and slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his pistol and pressed the end of the barrel against the center of Aramis' temple.

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The Musketeers were nearly running now, all of them still with the feeling of dread deep in their hearts. Something was happening, they knew it instinctively.

Rounding the corner of yet another ramshackle street, the building their wounded informant had described so we'll, they didn't even hesitate.

Except for moving as quietly as possible now, they cautiously opened and entered the strangely-colored red door, and proceeded down the dark main hallway til they came to the end of it.

Feeling along the edges of the first floor, Athos' fingers found the small latch and silently lifted it. Steps were revealed in the small amount of light they had to work with.

Moving down to them, they fervently hoped they wouldn't come across Aramis' kidnappers.

At the bottom of the steps, just as their wounded helper had also described, they saw a large door with a rusted metal bolt. Here, they became even more cautious, as they all could see that the bolt was pulled open.

Drawing their pistols and swords, they were just about to open the door, when they heard a man's voice say in a low growl coming from within, "You die now, Musketeer."

A few seconds later, a pistol shot went off.


	11. Chapter 11

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan were not prepared for the sight which awaited them when they opened the cell door. They were horrified to see a pistol pressed against their helpless brother's forehead, but Athos didn't hesitate. He fired instantaneously, Aramis' executioner flying backwards with the force of the shot. D'Artagnan and Porthos weren't more than a second behind, taking out two more of the men.

Seeing the fourth man stepping towards Aramis, possibly thinking of using the captive Musketeer as a shield, they all three let their main gauches fly, and the man dropped like a stone.

The threat now gone, they flew across the dark, cold room to their brother's side.

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Aramis could feel the cold muzzle of the pistol pressed hard against his temple. He knew he only had seconds left to live. Faces flew through his mind: Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan. Watch over them, Lord.

And then:

Into Thy hands, I commend my spirit, he prayed as he heard the distinctive click of the hammer on the pistol being thumbed back.

His heart was beating so fast and so hard, it made his breath start coming out in gasps. It was one thing to die in battle, or while trying to apprehend a criminal, another entirely to be chained and unable to defend himself.

And then, a quiet sound somewhere to the left of him-the door?

A second or less later, a shot broke the silence and tension, and Aramis stared as the man about to take his life flew violently backwards, hitting the wall and lying still. He didn't even have time to absorb that when two more shots, then a dagger, took out his other three kidnappers.

What…? His head swiveled to his left, his eyes opening wide and the breath he hadn't known he was holding exhaling as he saw the answer to his prayers at the sight of his all three of his brothers heading for him.

Kneeling around him, they rapidly began scanning his body for injuries, while Porthos set to work picking the locks that had held him bound for so long.

Aramis, finally finding his voice again after being stunned into silence, said in a faint voice filled with exhaustion and pain, yet also wonder, "You came!"

"Did you think we would not!" Athos deadpanned, the hand laid with infinite tenderness upon his brother's shoulder belying the slight tease of his words.

Once the shackles were removed, they began to ease Aramis down flat so they could do a better examination of the shape he was in. But when they attempted to straighten his body out, he groaned loudly in pain.

At this, they wondered if he had been kept in that position for the entire time he had been held captive, as they could tell his body was cramping up badly. Porthos took his brother's head onto his lap, soothing him as wave after wave of cramps rippled through his body.

With gentle hands, Athos worked his way down Aramis' body, cataloguing the injuries he found. Aramis' chest, back and arms were covered with various sizes and depths of cuts and slashes, some several inches long and deep, and dried blood covering large patches of his skin gave testimony to a lot of blood loss. He had bruising in numerous places, as well. One of his fingers was badly broken. He looked like he had not eaten much, and when he had spoken, his voice had been scratchy, as if he was parched.

What they found caused his brothers to growl at the treatment he had undergone. And yet, they were profoundly thankful that he had survived.

"Let us get him out of here," Athos said, anger in his voice. "He needs to be surrounded by the garrison, his home, and the people he loves. No one should go through what he has endured," an unusually long comment for him, but spoken with fervent passion at what had happened to Aramis.

But when Porthos went to lift him, and reached under his legs to pick him up, Aramis screamed in pain, before finally passing out. Searching for the cause of his reaction, they discovered the long, angry-looking burn down the back of his leg, looking as if it was becoming infected from lying on the dirty floor.

D'Artagnan, who had been checking to make sure all four men were dead, joined them in shock over the damage done to their brother. Athos said softly that he hoped Aramis hadn't been damaged psychologically, but they all felt that this would probably cause him nightmares.

Infection was already setting in on several wounds, so his trauma wouldn't be going away soon. They just hoped a sense of safety,familiar surroundings and their presence would overcome any possible lasting effects.

Porthos carried Aramis as they all left the scene of his chamber of horrors, trying to ignore the walls, filled with implements whose sole reason for being created was to cause pain. Aside from the knives, though, most of them had not been used on Aramis, for which they were profoundly grateful. They seemed to be there to create fear in the heart of whoever was locked within. Had Charon used this room before for his enemies?

Athos, in another unusual display of emotion, slammed the door shut behind him, sliding the latch closed to keep potential allies of the dead men inside from knowing their victim was gone.

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Leaving through the streets of the Court, they were the center of attention, people stopping whatever they were doing to stare at them as they carried their brother's abused body out.

One man, seeing them, grimaced and took off at a fast pace, looking back over his shoulder. People parted before him as he went, as if they were afraid of him. The Musketeers, their entire focus on Aramis right now, never noticed.

Right before they exited the Court, Flea came to meet them, face grim. "You found him. Will he make it?" shock at Aramis' condition softening her voice. The few times he had spoken to her, he had treated her with a gentleness and respect not usually given to a woman of the Court.

"We hope so," Athos replied.

"Did you take care of those responsible?"

"They are dead by our hands," Athos said coldly, remembering the sight they had walked in on when they found Aramis.

"Were they Charon's…" she hesitated.

Porthos answered. "They were the men close to him who used to do his dirty work, Flea."

Hanging her head a moment as disgust overwhelmed her, she recovered and asked, "You will let me know how Aramis is-if he recovers?"

"When he recovers,* Porthos said, emphasizing 'when', "we will send word, Flea.

Athos gave her directions to find the dead men, then they left the Court.

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It took them some time to reach the garrison, not wanting to jostle Aramis too much at a faster pace.

It was just bad luck that it happened to be market day, and they had to weave around vendors' carts and shoppers, which slowed their pace considerably.

Aramis lay so still in Porthos' arms, only an occasional whimper of pain coming from him that let his brothers know he still lived.

Those small whimpers tore at his brothers' hearts. Unbeknownst to each other, in all of them's minds was the fear that it had taken them too long to find him, that the evil perpetrated upon him might take him from them yet.

Finally, the gates came into view.

No sooner had they passed through them than Treville came striding rapidly across the courtyard, the gate guard obviously having alerted him.

"How is he?" deep concern coloring his words, as he finally got close enough to see some of the damage to Aramis' body.

"He's in very bad shape, Captain,"Porthos said sadly. "And infection is setting in."

"Did you find him in the Court of Miracles?"

"Yes, Captain. Secreted in an underground room known only to Charon and those close to him," Athos reported.

"You have as much time as it takes to help him to recover. I am taking you three off all other duties for the time being. Just be sure he makes it."

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_**A couple of readers messaged me last week to ask if I was going to have Aramis die in this fic. I would never write a death fic. I read a story once where he got killed, and it really upset me that, not only did he die in it, but the readers were given no warning at all beforehand. I will never do that to my readers, rest assured.**_


	12. Chapter 12

They decided to bring Aramis to his room instead of the infirmary, for a number of reasons. Aramis didn't need the men constantly stopping by to see how he was, even though they understood why they would. He needed to wake up in his own bed, after being in that dark, damp and cold place they had found him in. And there was only one entrance to the room, instead of also having a back door as the infirmary did. It would be easier to defend if any hard feelings were created from the men they had killed to rescue their brother.

Treville had sent to the palace to ask Dr. Lemay to come as quickly as he could. In the meantime, Aramis' brothers thought they would try to remove the dirt covering him.

Porthos laid Aramis down with a gentleness that belied his size. Removing what little torn clothing still covered him, they began to carefully sponge away the dirt and grime that covered his body. Even with as much care as they performed their ministrations, he still let out small whimpers.

They no sooner had cleansed him as well as they could, than Dr. Lemay came through the door. Moving rapidly over to Aramis' bed, Dr. Lemay looked him over, asking the others, "What on earth happened to him?"

They briefly described what he had gone through, with the physician responding that the men deserved to be hung for their actions. They told him they had already taken care of the men responsible. They weren't too surprised with the good doctor's reaction to Aramis' ordeal, as they knew he thought highly of their brother and also of his medical expertise.

Lemay expressed great concern about the beginnings of infection that the others had already noticed. Pulling some things from his bag, he asked if one of them could boil them in some water, to which d'Artagnan immediately volunteered.

Lemay praised them for the thoroughness of their cleansing of their brother. He pulled some ointments out of his bag, which he began to carefully rub into the large burn on his leg. As gentle as he was, as Athos and Porthos had been earlier, Aramis still groaned when he was touched.

They all wondered how long ago he had been burned, but had no way of knowing for sure. To be in the amount a burn caused for any amount of time would have been agonizing. The thought made Athos and Porthos almost wish they could bring the perpetrators back long enough to kill them all over again,, so angry were they at what had been done.

Once d'Artagnan had finishing steeping the physician's herbs in boiling water in a pot over the fireplace, Lemay waited for them to cool before smearing them lightly into the cuts on Aramis' chest and back. Aramis reacted, though, as soon as he was touched but throughout, there was no sign of consciousness from him.

He had done all he could. As he was leaving, he gave them some medicine for pain, if Aramis could wake up enough to give them to him. He told them to be sure to have him sent for if anything changed, but he would be back in a day or two.

None of them wanted to divide up their time to be with Aramis, so they ranged themselves around his bed and settled in to wait for him to of them would nap while stayed alert.

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Towards midnight during Athos' watch, Aramis began to become restless, his head moving from side to side. His body soon followed, gradually becoming more frenzied, as he groaned from the pain his movements were causing him.

Athos held his brother's shoulders down as gently yet firmly as he could, soon joined by Porthos and d'Artagnan, who had awakened soon after Aramis' had begun.

They had feared him possibly having nightmares from his ordeal, hoping he would be spared. But unfortunately, such was not going to be the case.

"I d ..don't underst..stand," he cried out. "P..please…" whatever else he had been about to say lost as he suddenly screamed in pain, trying to reach for his burned leg.

Panting now with the force of his nightmare, he struggled against their hands, obviously thinking they were his tormentors. But he was far too weak to break free, however much he tried.

He screamed one more time, and as it gradually became a low moan, his body shuddered and went limp.

The brothers looked at each other, their eyes reflecting their tormented brother's pain in their own.

There was nothing they could do other than that which they were already doing, yet they felt inadequate to help him enough.

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Athos later was ruminating at Aramis' bedside. Several thoughts were running through his mind.

When would Aramis come back to consciousness? They needed to get some sustenance into him, both food and water, as the state of his body told them his captors' had given him next to nothing for suite some time.

He had had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach ever since they had left the Court with Aramis. He had to wonder if they had taken out everyone involved in his kidnapping, or was there someone, or maybe several people out there who still posed a threat to their brother? But if so, who could he or they be?

Or was the bad feeling regarding something else entirely? He just couldn't non for sure at the moment. He needed to discuss it with Porthos and d'Artagnan. If one or both of them felt the same way, they needed to to tighten up their defenses as much as possible.

They also to make sure Louis and Richelieu heard nothing about the entire affair. If they did, it would be just like Richelieu to convince Louis to raze the whole Court to the ground, getting rid of it entirely.

But it was home to some of the poorest people in Paris, innocents who didn't deserve to have the only place to live they had ever had swept away from them, condemning to them to live beggar's lives on the street. Aramis would not want that, and neither did he or his brothers.

He had already briefly spoken to Treville about the matter, and he had agreed and said he would do whatever he could to keep the information away from the Palace. But Athos knew a couple of the Musketeers who had acqauintances in the Red Guards. Treville had said he would also speak privately with those men, after Athos had given him the men's names.

He was concerned also about Porthos. The big man and Aramis had been friends since before he himself had come to the Musketeers. It would devastate Porthos if they lost Aramis. But he and d'Artagnsn loved him every bit as much, his thoughts continued. It would tear us apart. His mind told him not to think the morbid thought. Aramis will pull through, they would see to it.

His eyes looked at his still dreadfully pale brother, the occasional whimper of pain the only found to come from him.

He no sooner focused on his brother than he began to become restless again, trying to reach for his burned leg again.

"W..why was it w..wrong?" the confusion clear in his voice, and Athos thinking, 'it is never wrong to save a life,' but knowing Aramis couldn't hear him.

How it must be paining him, Athos thought, both physically now and emotionally remembering what was done to him. Reaching out, he again held his brother back from touching the inflamed and infected leg, his heart aching that he couldn't help more.

A moment layer, his brothers joined him, their eyes telling of their same heartsickness inside.

And then, Aramis' eyes opened.


	13. Chapter 13

When Aramis' eyes began to move under his lids, his brothers joyfully waited for him to open them. But it wasn't to be the happy moment they anticipated.

Blinking wearily awake, he dimly beheld three men before him. But in his half-dazed state, all he thought was his captors had come for him again. Shrinking back away from them, he pleaded, "Please, don't … hurt me…again," his hands attempting to lift to ward them off, but falling back to his sides in weakness.

The infection was affecting him in other ways than the fever alone. His eyes were not lucid at all, and the pupils were blown wide in his fear and panic, his breathing coming in ever-increasing rapid gasps as he continued to try to push himself away.

His brothers backed away slightly, hoping to show him they meant no harm. As they did, they watched his body shudder, then gradually relax, losing consciousness again in the process.

Moving towards the bed again, they pulled the blankets back over him, not wanting him to be chilled, despite the fever.

Porthos sat down next to him, reaching out sadly to ruffle his hair. He looked up at his brothers, the tears in his eyes reflected in theirs. Aramis' pain was theirs, as well. They felt a little helpless at what they could do to quell his fears and make him well. They realized more fully now that it would not be just his body that deeply needed healing, but his mind and memories, as well.

They were growing more concerned, too, with how long he could go without sustenance. Water they could dribble, a little at a time, into his mouth, but he needed food, especially with the fever from the infection draining his body more each day. They wondered if broth would be enough for now, as they could use the same method with it as they were using with the water.

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Athos laid a hand on his brother's brow an hour later, and the heat radiating from it had increased yet again. They needed to find a way to lower it, and quickly. But how?

He sat with Porthos at the small table while d'Artagnan stayed at Aramis' bedside, trying desperately to come up with something.

They had been there, heads in their hands as they listened to the soft whimpers coming from their brother, when Athos lifted his head, looking at Porthos.

"We need several buckets of cold water, and any blankets in the storeroom as quickly as possible."

Porthos seemed to realize what they needed them for, as well as d'Artagnan, who said, "The bed will…"

"Be ruined," Athos finished. "But I do not care at the moment. The bed means nothing to me. Aramis' life is too precious to all of us to sit here and do nothing."

D'Artagnan and Porthos headed for the door, Athos already moving to Aramis' bedside.

As they went out, d'Artagnan said to Porthos, "You get the blankets. I will get the buckets, and see if Serge has any blocks of ice he will give us to keep the water cold longer," Porthos nodding his head with a small smile for the Gascon's ingenuity.

"This has to work," Athos murmured to his unconscious brother. "We are not going to lose you, mon ami."

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"Because of his burned leg, Athos hadn't asked them to bring up one of the large wooden bathing tubs. They couldn't risk submerging the burn in soap and water. So he had thought of laying cold blankets over his upper body to bring the fever down.

It seemed like forever before Porthos and d'Artagnan returned, but he knew that was because he was only because he was anxious to see if the process worked.

Finally, both of his brothers returned, Porthos' arms loaded with blankets, d'Artagnan laden with several buckets of water. Serge came in last with two of the cadets, carrying a large metal tub, in which was a very large block of ice.

Athos thanked Serge, and they got right to work.

First, they poured a couple of the buckets of water into the tub, then lowered the one of the blankets into the water to lay over the block of ice.

When they thought the blanket was sufficiently cold, Athos and Porthos lifted it dripping out of the water, and laid it over Aramis' upper body. Even unconscious, his arms and legs flailed, trying to move from the intense cold, but Porthos' strength was called into play to hold him still. Aramis moaned as he shivered under the blanket.

When a blanket would begin to warm, it would be replaced. Each time, Aramis would react the same. They would once again restrain him so that his injuries wouldn't worsen. His eyes, however, remained closed.

This again led to him struggling harder, although his efforts made no headway in his weakened condition. They just hoped this treatment would have the desired results of cooling his raging temperature.

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In a small run-down hovel at the end of an alleyway in the Court of Miracles, a shrill woman's voice complained, "I am not happy. Not happy at all."

A man's voice responded, subdued in the hope of calming the woman down a little. "There was nothing we could do. Our men were killed before they barely even knew anyone had entered."

"That is not what I paid you for, and paid you very handsomely, as you well know," the woman continued, if anything angrier now that she had answered, as it wasn't the answer she wanted.

Stopping for a moment, as pondering something, she then said in a quiet, calculating voice, "I was told he was in a very bad way. Good. Maybe he won't survive, and the effort will not have been for nothing. If not, well, we will see. In the meantime, I want you men to rid me of the other enemy in my life. She lured Charon away from me, and I want her taken care of. Try to do better at fulfilling my wishes than your dead compatriots did."

They silently filed out of the room, happy to have the chance to earn some coin, but not entirely confident about how to do it yet.

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The Musketeers continued to replace new cold blankets.

D'Artagnan's thoughts were of how helpless Aramis was, totally at odds from his normal, vibrant and confident personality. He has to make it through this, he thought fervently.

That was Porthos' thought, too, and the fact that his friend was usually on the other side, taking care of one of them. He could be very bossy in medic mode, he ruefully went on. Come back to us, Aramis. You can be as bossy as you want to be.

Athos, looking down at how still, silent and pale his brother's body remained when he wasn't struggling against a new blanket, afraid that their efforts would be in vain, that they had rescued him too late to save his life. Another person I love dying before me, he thought, no matter how different the circimstances might be.

As the sun began to come up, making its way through the slats in the mostly closed shutters, he once more reached out his hand as he had been doing all through the night, laying the back of it softly against Aramis' forehead.

His head shot up, hopeful eyes riveted on his brother's face now, as he felt a definite cooling on his hand. Porthos and d'Artagnan, their attention drawn by by the movement, saw the look in his eyes, and then the nod of his head. Tentative smiles began to form on their faces.

Treville saw this immediately when he opened the door and walked in.

"Their is a change?" he asked.

Athos, looking up, nodded, saying, "He is cooler. His fever is breaking, Captain," Treville hearing the depths of his Musketeer's emotions in those few words.

"You could not have given me better news," he responded, voice soft and filled with a joy not often heard in their battle-hardened captain.

"I have brought a bed from one of the empty rooms. The men are bringing it now," telling them one if the men in the garrison had filled in the captain as soon as he had reached his office that morning.

Even as he spoke, the men brought the bed into the room and waited.

Treville watched his men gently lift their brother, depositing him on the floor, as they swiftly but carefully changed out his clothes into dry ones. Meanwhile, to he other men lifted and carried the soaked old bed from the room.

He loved these men. They were tough and highly skilled soldiers, yet there was a beautiful and touching tenderness always displayed towards each other. They may not be brothers by blood, but they were much closer than many who were. He couldn't be more proud of them.

Aramis was deposited into the new one, dry blankets covering him all took a collective deep breath of relief. They had gone from the impossible thoughts of nearly losing him to incredible joy. They were all beyond thankful.

Now, they waited to see when he would wake up.


	14. Chapter 14

Athos had lost track of how long it had been since they had brought Aramis back to the garrison. To see his beloved brother so still, pale and silent, except for his nightmares, was a continuing source of heartache for all of them, he thought sadly.

These thoughts ran through his mind as he sat next to the bed, Aramis' hand clasped in his own.

After triumphing over the fever from their brother's infection, they had all felt that a corner had been turned, and that he would finally start to come back to them. But that had been three days ago, days that stretched by minute by aching minute, with no spark of consciousness to encourage their hopes.

He was beginning to realize that all of them might have to start preparing their hearts and minds for the unthinkable to possibly happen, no matter how they tried to avoid it. If he didn't wake up soon, he may never do so.

The very thought presenting itself in his mind caused the moisture that began to silently trickle down his cheeks now. Subconsciously, his hold on his brother's hand tightened in reaction.

Drowning in the sorrow of the likelihood of it happening, he failed for a brief moment to notice the slight pressure in his hand. Recovering, he stared, his expression slowly transforming his whole face in profound joy at Aramis' hand moving slightly in his own. Athos had never been one to let his emotions show-or sound. But his gasp was heard instantly by Porthos and d'Artagnan, who flew across the room to the bedside.

Because Athos' attention was riveted downwards, they looked, their expressions changing in an instant into the joy of their brother's.

Moments later, they watched as Aramis' eyes began to move under his lids, while his body twitched several times. Waiting, finally, his eyes opened.

They watched look around slowly, before focusing on themselves. His eyes then opened wide.

""F..free?" he asked, his voice scratchy from disuse and thirst barely audible. His expression looked slightly confused.

"Yes, Aramis, you are free, brother," Athos answered, voice still choked up to hear his brother speaking again.

"You..are r..really h..here?" he asked, still incredulous, and seeming not to remember anything of the rescue.

"We are, Aramis," Porthos answered this time. "You gave us quite a scare," his words deepening the confusion on Aramis' face.

Athos, seeing this, hastened to reassure him. "Everything is all right, Aramis."

E..every..thing a..all right?" he asked, his face lightening.

Seeing all three of his brothers nod their heads, his body visibly relaxed. They hadn't realized until they saw this happen that his entire body was tensed up.

"Aramis," Athos quietly said, "the men who hurt you are dead. They can never touch you again, mon ami. You are at the garrison in your own room, and one of us will be here all the time with you until you are well."

"Thank you…f..for my l..life."

"Thank you for coming back to us," Athos said, his eyes saying it as much as his words, Porthos and d'Artagnan laying their hands gently on his shoulders to express their own gratitude.

They had wanted to try giving him something nourishment, maybe just a cold broth, but they could all see that he was exhausted.

"Rest, Aramis. We will be here when you wake up."

He no sooner said the words than Aramis' eyes began to close, exhaustion claiming him.

Porthos fussed with the blanket, making sure to tuck it in up to his chin to keep him warm. D'Artagnan set about getting some broth from Serge to keep warm over the fire for when Aramis awoke again.

Athos continued to be a presence near him, just watching him sleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest was a comfort to them all, except for the times his breath still hitched from pain.

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The next time he awoke, a few hours later, Porthos was sitting with him. He greeted Aramis with a beaming smile.

"How you feeling, 'Mis?" he asked.

"T..tired," he responded, his lids blinking drowsily as he spoke, as if to confirm his words. Scrunching up his face then, as if a shooting pain had occurred, he said, "Hurts."

Porthos face reflected his concern for his brother, as he said, "I know, Aramis. We sent for Dr. Lemay to come. He can give us something to help. It shouldn't be too much longer til he gets here."

Thinking of something, he reached for and took Aramis' hand in his own, saying, "If it helps, squeeze my hand when it hurts. I can take it."

He had barely spoken before Aramis gave his hand a squeeze, his eyes closing as the twinge came. It was a reflection of how weak he was now that Porthos barely felt it. Aramis normally was a strong man, but at this point, it was all he could do to make any impression at all.

It will get better, Porthos thought, a great sadness inside of him to physically feel Aramis' present state. He continued to hold his brother's hand as they waited for De. Lemay. Once he had been there, they could maybe try getting him to eat something.

Just as they were thinking of the good doctor, he knocked at the door, coming in as d'Artagnan opened it for him.

Porthos spoke up, saying, "He finally woke", Dr. Lemay, "and he needs something for the pain he's in."

Lemay sat down beside Aramis on the bed, laying a hand on his chest to check his heartbeat. Frowning, he next laid it against his neck.

All three Musketeers, gathered around the bed, saw the physician's reaction.

"What is wrong, Doctor," Athos asked for them all.

"His heartbeat is too fast," Lemay replied. "Was he, perhaps, having dreams, nightmares when he was asleep?"

"He has been, off and on, since we brought him back to the garrison," Athos told him.

"Maybe something I have will give him a deeper state of sleep-hopefully without nightmares," Lemay said quietly, not wanting to disturb the half-sleep Aramis had fallen into.

He next checked the various wounds scattered throughout Aramis' torso, frowning when he reached the burn on his leg.

"This one is healing much too slowly. He must have had it for some time before you got to him. It may be what is causing his slow recovery. I will use some more of my salve. Make sure it stays as clean as possible, and that he does not move it much."

"This is something for the pain, and one for a deeper sleep," he said, hanging Athos two brown bottles, which the swordsman put on an upper shelf of Aramis' bookshelf, so that none of them might accidentally knock them over.

He left a few moments later, but not before telling them to be sure and send for him if they needed to.

By now, Aramis was once more fully asleep, do they had no chance to try giving him some broth. They also had not had the opportunity to give him the med for sleeping better.

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Halfway through the night on Athos' watch, Aramis awoke once more. Blinking as he tried to focus, a slight smile graced his face as he beheld his brother.

"Safe," he said softly.

"Yes, you are, Aramis," Athos rejoined. "Would you like to try some broth, brother?" seeing that d'Artagnan had awakened and was heading to the pot simmering on the fire.

"I..I can try," Aramis responded.

It was a slow and halting process, and Aramis was unable to take in very much, but he finally had something in his stomach once again.

Athos had slipped the pain and sleep medicines in the broth, and within minutes of finishing, Aramis had fallen asleep.

The rest of this night, there were no nightmares, and no restlessness movements to disturb him, as the good doctor had said should be the case. Aramis slept peacefully and through to the middle of the next day, breathing even, and with no gasps of pain this time.

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan breathed huge sighs of relief. Maybe this would result in his full recovery finally.


	15. Chapter 15

When he woke up again, he looked around, his face slightly confused. His brothers noticed this, and Athos asked, "Are you all right, Aramis?"

Aramis, his eyes opening further, looked around, confused. "Garrison?"His brothers looked at each other, not understanding why he didn't remember where he was from the last time he had awakened.

Aramis spoke again. "Y..you ..rescued me?"

Now, they were even more concerned.

"You do not remember, Aramis?" Porthos asked.

Aramis was quiet for a moment, looking up at Porthos. Then he said, "I..I'm sorry, Porthos", his face full of sorrow.

"What do you have to be sorry about, 'Mis," Porthos asked softly, face a little confused by the words he had heard.

"I .. k..killed y..your f..friend," he said, his stuttering increasing now.

Since Aramis had been given no choice but to save his friend's life and hadn't felt guilty before, they didn't understand why he would be thinking this now.

"H..he was their fr..friend, t..too," Aramis continued. "Th..that's why th..they t..took me."

Of all the things they thought he might say, this shocked them completely.

Taking d'Artagnan aside, Athos said quietly, "Go find Dr. Lemay. Something is very wrong."

D'Artagnan headed quickly out the door, as Athos came back to Aramis' side.

"I..I d..did it..I..I k..killed him," Aramis' voice now at a whisper. He was becoming very agitated, his fingers trying grasping at the blanket, his eyes full of guilt.

A few moments later, his eyes once again closed in sleep.

They sat down at the table shocked.

They wondered if these thoughts came from his dreams. Athos had seen a soldier once who had recently been in the midst of a fierce battle where several women and children accidentally been killed. He had exhibited guilt for their deaths, even though he had not personally killed any of nonsense had his captors been saying to him? He had been at their mercy for a long time, but what could they have done to cause this reaction?

Aramis was a highly intelligent man. He was also caring and compassionate. But he didn't mistake evil and good. Charon had been a very bad man, about to blow up an entire community of men, women and children.

The men who had kidnapped and hurt Aramis had lived lifetimes of crime, probably including taking lives. They were not good men.

But the mind could play tricks. They all knew that. Doctors had yet no way of studying it, other than just observation of words and actions.

They once again settled down to wait for Dr. Lemay, but Aramis unexpectantly woke up again a few minutes later.

Eyelids blinking slowly, he gazed up at them, a questioning look in his eyes.

"W..what's wrong?" he asked.

Not wanting to go into explaining their worry, they just smiled at him.

"How do you feel, Aramis?" Athos asked him.

"Tired," Aramis responded. "Pain…," but seeing the worry coming into their faces, he added, "not q..quite as bad."

They were now seeing no signs of the feelings of guilt he had expressed a few minutes before. What was happening?

"Would you like to try to eat some more, Aramis?" Porthos asked him. "Serge told us that when we come to get you some good again, he has something special for you."

"I'll t..try," Aramis replied.

They decided it would be better not mentioning his earlier comments. But they would be watchful to see if it might happen again.

Aramis tried to eat as much as he could when the chicken soup came. He smiled when Porthos revealed Serge's surprise-a blueberry tart with cream on top. He wasn't able to finish more than a third of it, but his brothers assured him it would be there for him later if he was able to finish it, "and we will keep Porthos from stealing it," Athos teasingly told Aramis, to Porthos' dramatic denial of ever doing so.

It was a lighthearted moment they had all needed. Aramis had been able to stay awake longer than the other waking times together. He showed no trace of feeling guilty of Charon's death in the whole time he was awake.

Aramis finally had fallen asleep again, worn out from the length of time he had been able to stay conscious.

Not long after he fell asleep, d'Artagnan finally came back with Lemay.

"I am so sorry, gentlemen," he said. "I was unavoidably detained by Louis, who had a migraine. D'Artagnan has explained the situation to me as we made our way here."

Athos said, "It is indeed curious, Doctor. He awoke againa few minutes after he had fallen asleep, and showed no signs whatever of guilt at all. How can this be?"

Lemay was silent for a few moments.

"Not enough is known as yet about the human mind. There are so very many things that need study." Silent a moment again, he then asked, "Before this occurred, he was asleep?"

Receiving an affirmative reply, he then asked, "Was it a restful, uneventful sleep?"

Porthos, who had been sitting with him, said, "He seemed to be having a bad dream. He was restless, and muttered to himself a couple of times. Why?" he then asked.

"I am not certain of anything at this point, but his guilt may stem from whatever was happening in his dream….I should probably rather say nightmare. We will just have to see if it occurs again, and be extra observant when he is asleep as to his behavior. On another note. The sleep and pain medicines are working."

"Except for that time, yes, Doctor."

"We shall see. Please call me at once if it happens again. Gentlemen, good day to you. Louis believes he needs my attendance upon him with the headaches."

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D'Artagnan was sitting with Aramis late that night, hoping his brother wouldn't have any more of his troubling symptoms.

He has enough to deal with, healing from his wounds, he thought. He doesn't need his mind to start terrorizing him.

He had learned so much from the marksman. Aramis had kind-of taken him under his wing, sensing an eagerness to learn, d'Artagnan thought. And he was right. D'Artagnan knew he was eager to learn as much as he could in order to earn his commission and be an excellent Musketeer when the time came.

What he hadn't realized was how much he enjoyed learning medical skills from his brother, and Aramis had told him more than once that he picked up what he was being told or shown very well.

But I didn't learn enough to help him with this, he thought sadly. Give me another chance, he silently implored his sleeping brother. I want to be able to heal like you do, like I have seen you do countless times since I've been here.

As Porthos and Athos did when they say beside their brother, d'Artagnan, too, took Aramis' limp hand in his own. It seemed to help him. Aramis needed touch when he was sick or injured. He seemed to sense someone was with him even when he was unconscious, if that person maintained contact in some way.

I don't have the same deep faith you do, Aramis, he thought. But I am asking for your healing. You are such a good man. I'm sure God knows that, and will you bring you all the way back to us.

arly the next morning, just as they were beginning to hope that what had happened the day before might have been an isolated incident, Aramis suddenly began thrashing his arms and legs about, and began shaking his head, saying, "I'm sorry. Sorry. Didn't….."whatever he had been about to say suddenly turning into a bloodcurdling scream as his hand attempted to reach his burned leg.

"N...nooo!"


	16. Chapter 16

Aramis' whole body was tremblng as he frantically tried to reach his burned leg.

"I..I'm sorry! P…please, I' !" he said breath coming in gasps between his words.

D'Artagnan, his heart aching for his brother, did the only thing he could think of, and lifted his shaking body into his arms, whispering, "I'm here, Aramis. I'm here."

Within a few moments, Aramis began to calm, his head turning towards d'Artagnan.

The Gascon could hear Athos and Porthos in back of him, but he kept his focus on the traumatized Aramis, his arms holding him firmly but as loosely as he could, given his injuries.

"D..d'Artagnan?" Aramis asked.

"Yes, I'm here," was the immediate, soft reply.

"Safe?" the marksman asked. The word had come from his lips more than once since they had rescued him.

"Yes, you are safe, Aramis,"d'Artagnan responded, tears in his eyes as his eyes traveled from Aramis' up to his brothers.

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They discovered that, over the next few days, if Aramis had his nightmares, that if they took him in their arms, he calmed and settled, nightmares fleeing in the face on brotherly love.

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Aramis slowly began to heal, his nightmares coming less and less.

They didn't ask Aramis any more questions, for the time being, about his ordeal, not wanting to risk a relapse.

He began to eat some solid food. Lemay called, and after examining him, told them with confidence that Aramis would now make a full recovery, barring any unforeseen circumstances.

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One day, Athos asked Aramis if he would like to try getting out of bed, to which Aramis responded with a full smile.

With his brothers on either side of him holding his arms to support him, Aramis finally made it to his feet for the first time in a long while.

His legs were shaky, which was expected, considering his injuries, and the long amount of time, both in captivity and healing, since he had been on them.

But he and his brothers were vastly pleased at this small milestone in his recovery.

That evening, Serge outdid himself preparing all of them a mini-feast with which to celebrate. Porthos couldn't quite believe that the old cook had made each one of them a large tart, oozing with lemon filling. He dug into his with real gusto, as did they all.

Aramis was worn out with celebrating, and fell asleep soon after supper. He had been exhausted, but all of them were pleased with how happy he had looked all day.

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As was usual with Aramis, he wanted to try doing things way too fast, which wasn't what Lemay wanted at all. His old enthusiasm was coming back.

They had to rein him in when he wanted to push himself harder and harder. It frustrated him, but at the same time, he understood why they prevented him.

But still, at the end of another week, he was out at the Inseparables' table having supper. They all felt a sense of peace to be together at the table, Serge positively beaming as he served them.

Of course, during supper, Aramis mentioned riding, and found that he had three slightly upset brothers glaring at him for even bringing the subject of getting in a saddle again so soon. He just grinned back at them, which caused them to double their resolve to keep a constant eye on him just in case he thought he could try it anyway!

The burn on his leg was finally letting up on the pain, and Aramis saw no reason why he couldn't at least do same simple chores around the garrison. But his brothers again had to rein in his enthusiasm, this time with Treville's help, telling him to take it easy. Too soon, they said, putting a damper on the next question he had been about to propose, thinking the next morning would be could see that, as usual, once he began to mend, he figured there was nothing stopping his all-out effort.

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But there came the morning a couple of weeks later when he finally did mount up again, his brothers finally relenting and suggesting a short ride just outside the city walls.

They only had to get after him twice, both times for urging his mount to 'go a little faster!'

He was very tired that night, but content and happy that he would be riding out on missions soon.

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In a section of the Court of Miracles, three men had been keeping watch on a little thatched house for several days. They kept track of the owner's movements, and everyone who came and went the house, both during the days and in the evenings.

The men were poorly dressed, old patched clothing, and hats that almost looked like an animal had been munching on the edges of them. These they kept pulled low over their faces, careful in case someone might glance up and see one of them at the window.

"Sure is busy," one of them remarked to the others, as they huddled in an upper story room across from the house they watched, with no candles or torches lit to prevent anyone noticing their spying.

"Stands to reason, though, considering who it is, and what needs to be done," another man replied.

"We don't have long before we do it," piped up yet another voice.

"It needs to be done when no one else is in the house. We don't need to get innocents involved in this," the first man added.

"I sure hope I don't ever have our benefactor angry with me."

"We won't, as long as we follow our orders to the letter," the first man said.

They continued their vigil each day, until one day, it happened that no one other than the house's occupant was there all day.

They decided that evening it would be done-unless someone came for the evening.

No one did.

Late that same night, the house became the focus of the entire Court of Miracles, as it exploded and burst into flames. People flew out of their houses, staring at the sight. They then found bucket after bucket, filling them hurriedly with water, and flinging it at the blaze, but almost to no effect. The house burned to the ground.

Of the occupant of the house, there was no sign. No body was found.


	17. Chapter 17

His brothers had gone to the palace for guard duty. Aramis spent most of the morning inspecting and cleaning the guns in the weapons room.

Heading out and making his way towards the refectory for the midday meal, he saw a bedraggled, dirt-covered woman in a heated discussion with a cadet who was assigned as guard at the gate that day. Curious, he headed that way.

When he came near enough, he realized the woman wasn't dirty. She was covered with soot, like from a fire. She appeared barely able to keep on her feet. Her clothes were torn, where the fabric wasn't Aramis reached her, what little reserves of strength she possessed suddenly deserted her, and she collapsed at his feet.

Kneeling down beside her, he lifted her head. Recognition startled him, as he softly said, "Flea."

Knowing he wasn't yet strong enough to lift her, he beckoned sharply to a cadet headed for his own midday meal, telling him to bring her to the infirmary. He went on ahead to prepare for his patient.

The cadet carried her in, laying her down where Aramis indicated. The medic dismissed him, already inspecting her for had obviously been at the scene of a fire. She was covered in soot. It clung to her hair, her skin, her clothes. Pieces of her outer clothing were charred. She had obviously escaped a blaze by the skin of her teeth.

"Flea?" he tried saying her name softly. But he received no reply. Locking the infirmary door in case any of the men in the garrison might come in, he went on with his examination.

He carefully began checking her body for burns or injuries, all the while thinking, Porthos is going to be worried sick when he sees her like this. They might not still be lovers, but Flea was still a very special friend to his brother.

He found several burns on her legs, a couple badly. These are not new, he realized to his horrified surprise. Examining them more closely, he came to the conclusion that they were more than likely as much as two to three days old.

Why were they left to possibly fester, he continued, already seeing signs around the burns that indicated a possible infection setting in. Where had she been when it happened, and where has she been since that she has received no help for her injuries?

Close upon that thought came the next one. Porthos is going to be devastated if she doesn't survive.

He, as gently as possible, applied a salve he had mixed together for burns, hoping they would not become infected.

He tried again, "Flea?" but she remained unconscious.

He made her as comfortable as possible, and then sat down at her side, waiting both for her to awaken and for his brothers to return from the palace.

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It was late when Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan returned. Louis had decided, quite unexpectedly, to hold a banquet for some German visitors to the palace, and requested that 'his Musketeers' stay on guard for it. It turned out to be a very long day for all of them, and they were bone-tired from being on their feet for hours. But their comfort was the last thing on their sovereign's mind, of course.

Riding into the quiet garrison late in the evening, their minds were fixed on at last getting some rest. But as they were dismounting and handing their horses' reins over to the stableboy who was assigned night duty to unsaddle, rub down and feed, one of the cadets came up, saying, "Your friend is in the infirmary with a woman."

Porthos demanded, "What are you talking about, Marc?"

"Aramis," Marc responded with a slight smirk. "I was on gate duty earlier today. Some woman came. Her clothes and hair were all dirty and torn. He came over, and right away got another cadet to carry her to the infirmary. He was not recovered enough to do it."

This cadet had been jealous of Aramis' ability to attract women seemingly without even trying, so they immediately suspected what he was implying about Aramis and the woman.

Brushing by him, they headed for the infirmary, only to find the door locked from the inside. Puzzled, they still knew their brother, and he would never bring a woman he was involved with into the garrison. The description of the woman alone gave a very different picture to them than the cadet was trying to give.

Knocking softly on the door, Athos called, "Aramis, are you in there?"

There was no reply, so he tried a second time and they waited.

After a few moments, the door opened, a tousle-haired Aramis looking out at them and then swinging the door quietly open wide.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to call asleep," he said by way of explanation. "She needs me," indicating a bed in the far corner of the infirmary.

They started to walk that way, only for Aramis to lay his hand gently but firmly on Porthos' shoulder to stop him. They all halted then, wondering what was wrong.

"Porthos, I have to tell you first. I didn't want you to just see her without warning you," drawing puzzled looks not only from the big man, but from his other brothers, as well.

Aramis, seeing this, continued. "Porthos, it's Flea. She's….." getting no further before Porthos walked swiftly around him to the bed.

Seeing her clothes and skin, Aramis not having been able to maneuver her well enough yet to wash her, Porthos turned questioning and now worried eyes to Aramis.

Aramis' eyes were sad as he told him, "I don't know what happened to her, Porthos. I think she was barely able to get here in her condition. She has obviously been the victim of a fire. I saw her at the gates as I was heading for the midday meal. She collapsed as soon as I reached her."

"Did she say anything?" Athos asked him.

"Nothing," Aramis responded. "She has several serious burns on her torso. I did the best I could, but I'm not able to lift yet, so I got one of the cadets to carry her here," his eyes never leaving Porthos' face as he spoke.

"She has not awakened at all?"

"No," Aramis said, shaking his head, "not yet."

"Why was the door locked?" Athos continued his questions.

"I didn't want her exposed to any of the men in the garrison, especially when she is so vulnerable," Aramis replied. "I am sorry I fell asleep for a few moments," looking over at Porthos again, who eyes had not left Flea's face since he had seen her.

"Aramis, you need to get some rest yourself. It has not been that long since you were in a bed in this same room, brother," Athos told him.

Aramis shook his head, saying, "I need to be here for her when she wakes up. I…" Athos interrupting with a hand laid on his brother's shoulder.

"We will keep watch, mon ami," he told Aramis. "If your skills are needed, we will awaken you, I promise you."

Porthos finally spoke up. "Thank you for taking care of her," he said softly, looking up at Aramis. "I will stay by her side while you get some rest."

Finally giving in to their pleas and to his exhaustion, Aramis said, "Very well. But I will rest in a bed in this room, so that I am not that far if I am needed."

His weary feet took him to a bed on the opposite side of the room. Within moments of laying his head on the pillow, he was sound asleep.

Porthos sat down at Flea's side and took her hand, where he remained, waiting for her to wake up.

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Somewhere deep within the Court of Miracles that night, a woman again met with her hired men.

"Where did she go?"she stormed at them. "You told me you took care of her! I have now been told the house was empty when it was searched."

"We thought she was in there," one of the men cautiously answered. "We don't know how she could have escaped. But we will find her, and finish our work."

"Have you, by chance, forgotten that she is only half of the job I hired you for?" her rage further incensed by the man's words,

."You have had two assignments, and so far, you have badly bungled both of them," arms gesticulating wildly as she worked herself up. "I do not want, or expect, bungling from those to whom I pay good coin to do the work I hire them for.

Do. Not. Fail. Me. Again. Do you hear me?"


	18. Chapter 18

_**I'm so sorry for taking so long to continue this story. Hopefully, it will continue each week now. Thanks for reading, fpllowing, reviewing!**_

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

It was three days before they saw any signs of Flea coming around.

Aramis and Porthos had been at Flea's side the whole time, both exhausted but unwilling to move from her side in the condition she was in.

Athos had been on a two-day errand for Treville. Artagnan had told him of the situation as he left the Captain's office, causing the swordsman to shake his head silently, before heading for the infirmary at an accelerated speed intending to remedy things immediately, d'Artagnan right at his heels.

Entering the infirmary quietly, he beheld his two weary but stubbornly awake brothers.

"Have you two been there the whole time?" he asked them. Sheepishly, they turned weary eyes to him and nodded.

"Porthos. You will be in no condition to render any assistance to Flea should she require it, if you are too tired to think quickly."

Seeing Aramis start to smile, Athos turned to him now.

"And you, Aramis, you are our medic. What would you have to say to one of us if we had gone through half of what you have, and then proceeded to exhaust yourself?" lifting a telltale eyebrow at the end of his question.

Aramis began to reply, "What if she…" only for Athos to cut him off, saying, "If she requires your medical expertise, d'Artagnan or I will awaken you, Aramis."

Seeing Aramis start to say something else, Athos added, "D'Artagnan or I will stay at her side, Aramis. But we are concerned that you are wearing yourself out, after we nearly lost you. Sleep, brother," seeing Aramis finally hang his head, giving up the argument.

Moments later, Aramis and Porthos were comfortably lying in bed asleep.

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In the murky environs of the Court of Miracles, four men were discussing how to finally accomplish what they had been hired to do.

"We won't get them while they're in the garrison, that's for sure," one of them grumbled.

Another nodded his head, saying, "Those Musketeers would skin us alive if they caught us there after what our deceased companions did to their friend."

The third one, listening to the others' comments, said, "All we got to do is wait them out. For young healthy men, staying put is going to be wearing on them. What I'm thinking, too, is Flea will want to get back here as soon as she is able. Maybe we will have luck, and one or more of the Musketeers will accompany her. We grab one of them, and bargain for the one we are being paid to kill. We may even have better luck, and find Aramis being the one who escorts her back. If these two scenarios don't come to pass, we just adjust for opportunities. All we need is patience."

One of the others said, "That can work for us, but our employer is already boiling. Waiting will make her worse."

"She has no choice. All she can do is fume. If she goes looking for other men now, she risks exposing herself too much. She won't want that. Flea already has had men she trusts in the Court keeping their eyes and ears open for any information about what's been going on in here."

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A few moments after Aramis deeper breathing indicated he was deeply asleep, Porthos quietly arose and joined his brothers at the table near Flea's bed.

"Worked like a charm," he said as he sat down. As long as he thought both of us were being told to get some rest, he went along with it," chuckling over their minor deception.

"We just need to keep an eye on him that he does not overdo things again. When he feels responsible for taking care of someone, be puts himself last-if he considers himself at all, that is," Athos said, gazing fondly over at his sleeping brother.

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It wasn't until late the next day that Flea finally awakened. Looking around confusedly, she relaxed when she saw Porthos sitting next to her bed.

"How you doing?" he asked, anxiety coloring his question.

She was quiet for so long, Porthos asked again, thinking her mind was foggy or confused yet.

"I was trying to remember..what happened," she said slowly. Then, horror filled her face as memory returned. "My…house blew up! I was walking toward…it, and then…."

She stopped, the scene obviously playing out in her mind.

"Take a deep breath, Flea," Aramis said from right behind Porthos, startling the big man, who had thought Aramis was off eating his midday meal with Athos and d'Artagnan, and had returned noiselessly to the infirmary.

Teasing him, Porthos said, "Don't do that! You almost made me prematurely grey!"

Aramis just smiled, and gently addressed Flea again.

"Can you tell us what you remember, Flea?"

She frowned a moment, then said quietly, "I was coming back from meeting several men I had asked to keep their eyes and ears open, so we could find out who was behind your kidnapping and near-death. As I got closer to my house, it bl...blew up. It threw me backwards, and.."

"Take your time," Porthos told her.

"As I hit the ground, I dimly heard a voice. It said, "One down, one still to go," her face registering her confusion as to what the words she had heard meant.

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other over Flea's head, the words' possible meaning shocking them, if they meant what they both of them thought they did.

Flea was obviously distraught over her memories, and Aramis gave her something to help her sleep again. Then, he turned to Porthos.

"Who is behind this?" frustration plain on his face. "It seems they are also targeting Flea for trying to get to the bottom of this vendetta."

"I don't know, mon ami, but we are going to be sticking to you and Flea like glue until we unmask and catch them," Porthos promised him.

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As Flea gradually began to get better, Aramis began to again be restless cooped up at the garrison.

He pestered Treville and Athos to at least do some palace duty, but was refused, as Treville said the outside grounds were too open with too many hiding places to shoot from.

But he persisted with Athos to at least be able to accompany them to get some new firearms the next day. Athos finally had pity, thinking what he himself would feel like cooped up, and agreed, 'if' Aramis stayed between he and Porthos and didn't wander off.

Aramis was so glad he had agreed to let him come, that he enthusiastically promised to follow instructions to the letter.

They were going, at Treville's behest, to an old arms dealer whom the Captain had known for many needed several new pistols, as some were getting quite old.

Aramis was happy and full of energy as they left the garrison, even seeing that his brothers kept their hands hovering over their holstered pistols, which turned out to be a very wise precaution.

They were less than halfway to their destination, when Athos turned rapidly and fired towards a rooftop, watching as a body tumbled over the roof's edge and dropped sharply to the ground, almost at Aramis' startled feet.

Athos had barely taken care of one man, when Porthos swing around and grabbed an incoming assailant around the neck, before ramming him into the wall with a sickening crunch, where the man slithered bonelessly to the ground and lay unmoving.

Athos redirected their steps swiftly back to the garrison.

Once there, he turned to a dejected Aramis. "I am sorry, Aramis. Unfortunately, leaving the garrison will not be an option now until this situation is resolved. It is just much to dangerous to risk your life again," Athos firmly but sadly informed Aramis.


	19. Chapter 19

Flea gradually got better, and also her strength. The Musketeers took turns sitting with her, listening as she relived the horror of her little home blowing up before her eyes.

Her eyes were always sad, thinking that someone hated her enough to do something like that. If she hadn't left for a few minutes right before it happened, she would have perished inside. She realized, too, that possibility was probably just what the attackers had planned on.

Three weeks after she had come to the garrison, she took her first tentative steps, Aramis and Porthos supporting her on each side. She was able to walk across the infirmary several days later.

One day, she asked Aramis how long it would be before she could return to the Court. She knew he was their medic, so she would probably have to be well enough in his eyes before she would be allowed to go.

Aramis hesitated for a few moments before answering. "Flea, you are not nearly well enough yet. The burns need more time to heal properly. Just take it easy and rest for a while longer."

That wasn't the answer Flea had been hoping for, and the disappointment showed in her face, but she knew in her heart that he was right.

Nodding her head, she placed a hand gently on his arm, saying, "I thank you for saving my life. If you hadn't come along when I was at the gate…"

Aramis said softly, "You are Porthos' dear friend, and are now friends with each of us. We take care of our friends, Flea. Always remember that. Now, rest," pulling the blanket up to cover her, then standing.

I will be here reading should you have need of me," before walking to a table in the center of the infirmary and sitting down to read.

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"We still don't know who did this, and she wants to leave?" Porthos increduously said to Aramis later when his brother told him about the conversation with Flea.

"Porthos, the Court of Miracles is the only home she has ever known," Aramis replied patiently. "Of course, she longs to go back. She is also the de facto leader of the Court, and she knows only the leader can command any respect there, without complete lawlessness running even more rampant than at present. The poor families who live there wouldn't stand even the slim chance they have now if there was no leader whatever. You know this."

"I know," Porthos said, as his shoulders sagged in acknowledgement of the truth of Aramis' words. "But I don't like it."

"I don't either, Porthos. But she cannot leave until she is stronger than she is at present. We just need to keep a close eye on her for now."

Flea became a model patient in the next few days. She did whatever they asked, took Aramis' medicines for pain and to sleep, and ate what they laid before her, which quieted Aramis and Porthos' worries.

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A week later, Athos returned from a meeting in Treville's office.

"Rochefort has convinced Louis that we have had enough, as be calls it, 'time off', so Louis wants us on Palace duty tomorrow. Treville was able to persuade Louis that Aramis tires too easily yet to withstand long hours on his feet, so he will still be able to be here for Flea."

"That figures," Porthos said disgustedly said. "Rochefort always tries to make us look bad, and Louis is spineless enough to be manipulated."

Aramis looked affronted that he had been made to look like such an invalid, but finally conceded that Treville had been quick-thinking in outwitting Rochefort.

"Someday," d'Artagnan quietly said, "Rochefort will meet the justice he deserves," the others nodding silently in agreement.

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Porthos came to spend a few extra minutes with Flea next morning before leaving with Athos and d'Artagnan for guard duty.

"Now you behave yourself, Flea, and I will see you when I return this evening," he said. "You've done so well, and your burns are healing. Aramis will be here with you, if you want anything or need to talk."

From behind him came Aramis' teasing voice. "And Porthos promises to be on his best behavior at the Palace today," earning him a mock glare from his brother, which he answered with a pat on the big man's shoulder and a big smile.

Flea, watching their interaction, already knew from Porthos that Aramis was his best friend, someone he would lay down his life for, and someone he knew would do the same for him.

Knowing this, she had tried very hard to get to the bottom of the attempts on his life, and who was behind them. Even though she had no evidence to support her suspicions, she knew her house had been targetted because of her attempts to find answers.

She had decided this morning to find an opportunity to get back to the Court today. It was her home and she missed it. She also needed to find out if her men had uncovered any information yet.

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It turned out to be fairly easy to be alone for the few moments she needed. At midday, she said she felt really hungry, and Aramis volunteered at once to check with Serge about a meal for both of them.

He teased her, saying, "Keep out of trouble," as he closed the door, causing feelings of guilt to niggle at her conscience. But she shrugged them off, determined to follow through with her plan.

Wrapping her old cloak that she had found in the corner of the infirmary about her, she quietly opened the door and looked around.

No one was in sight. Probably having their midday meal, she thought, as she eased her way out the door.

She could feel her healing burns protesting as she moved cautiously across the compound towards the gates.

Once she was through the gates, she breathed a little sigh of relief, before moving a little more quickly away from the garrison.

She hadn't got very far, though, when trouble materialized.

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Aramis came back to the infirmary laden with two large trays of food, Serge having gone all out again for his favorite

It didn't hit him at first that he didn't have to lift the latch to enter the door, pushing it open with his foot instead.

But once he was inside, he saw no sign of Flea anywhere in the infirmary.

Laying the trays down on the table, he called her, even knowing with a sinking sensation that she was gone. He hadn't seen her around the garrison on his way back with the food, either.

His brothers would probably not return until later in the evening, later still if Louis took it into his head, as he sometimes did, to throw a party or some other entertainment for visiting guests.

Sighing in frustration, he hurriedly buckled on his weapons belt, and added two pistols to it, before heading back out the door.

Reaching the gates and passing through them, he turned to the left, figuring she was probably heading for the Court of Miracles, recalling her wish to return home.

He got no further than a dozen steps before he saw her straight ahead of him, her arms were being held by two men, whose clothing looked much as the denizons of the Court did. The man on the right had his hand covering her mouth, as well.

"Let her go!" he commanded loudly, starting to pull out his pistols.

The distinct sound of a pistol being cocked sounded right behind him. He froze.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Musketeer", a growling voice snarled from behind him, as the pistol he had heard now pressed against the back of his neck.

"We are all going back to the Court of Miracles."


	20. Chapter 20

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan were unexpectedly released early from palace duty when the King took to his bed with a headache.

Arriving back at the garrison, they headed directly to the infirmary to relieve Aramis of his extended bedside duty.

Opening the door, though, they found no one inside. Alarmed, they raced back out the door, splitting up to search the garrison for them. When they didn't find them, they took the steps two at a time to talk to Treville.

Explaining what had happened, they watched the Captain's face pale and change, an intensely worried look emerging.

"The Court of Miracles! I almost wish the Cardinal had been given permission to raze it to the ground! Go find Aramis and bring he and Flea back. Do whatever you have to do, but get it done. I don't need to remind you that time is of the essence-if they haven't carried out their sick vendetta already!" The thread of near-panic in Treville's voice had never been heard by his Musketeers, telling them he thought it might already be too late.

Athos and his brothers exited quietly from a shaken Treville's office, leaving their Captain standing with hands flat and splayed on his desk, head down.

Heavily armed, they strode out of the gates with grim faces, heading once again for the Court of Miracles, determined to find Aramis and Flea alive, and to bring their beloved brother back to the garrison, back home.

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Having rendered Aramis helpless to resist them by their threat to Flea's life, he had put up no resistance when they had divested him of his weapons. Pulling his arms behind him, they tightly bound them, feeling more secure once they had rendered him incapable of putting up a fight to escape.

They moved more rapidly now, reaching the Court of Miracles quickly.

Aramis, remembering what had happened to him the last time he had been brought to the Court, felt an involuntary shudder race up his spine upon spying it ahead of them. He almost felt a sense of hopelessness this time, having come so close to death last time.

His brothers would come for him. He knew that. But they would be delayed for hours at the King's pleasure. He might very well be dead by the time they found him this time.

He still wondered who was behind this, who held the purse strings. He may never find out in this lifetime, he grimly told himself.

Once through the Court entrance, they began winding their way through the ramshackle streets and buildings, Aramis finding it almost impossible to keep track of their direction, in the possibly vain hope of getting loose and making his way out. He knew that only those who had grown up here, like Porthos, could move around deftly, knowing every street and alleyway.

He could hear some noise in the distance, gradually growing louder.

After what seemed like forever, they finally slowed down, a moment later, pushing open double doors onto a very large courtyard.

The scene that revealed itself stunned him. Now, the dull roar he had heard growing steadily louder explained itself at what he saw.

Stands had been set up around the courtyard, and were filled with very raucous people, mostly men. But what made Aramis' heart nearly stop in horror was the scaffold erected dead-center in the courtyard. A post with a hanging noose made him balk in his tracks, before he was roughly shoved forward towards it.

When they reached the bottom, he was forced up the steps,finally reaching the top, as the crowd's roar increased at sight of the victim they had come to see hung. They were pumping their fists, some of them with tankards they were drinking out of in their other hand. It was like they were being entertained, Aramis thought, his heart now pounding wildly at what they were about to do to him.

Flea had been forced up the steps, as well, and her eyes now caught those of Aramis, silently showing her shock and sorrow at what was about to happen to this kind man who had saved her life.

They were reaching for the noose, as the crowd's roar reached fever pitch, when a woman's voice rose above the crowd.

A woman, maybe around her middle thirties, looking small surrounded by all the men in the courtyard, made her way to the scaffolding. The people who had not been able to get seats so were standing, were parting like a wave to let her through.

Climbing the steps, she reached the top,moving to stand in front of Aramis. Her long black hair flying wildly about her, she looked aged beyond her years. Her face was rigid with her anger.

"At last-justice! You murdered the only man I have ever loved. Took his life without a thought! You should have died the first time we had you, but for the bungling of the men I hired in good faith."

Aramis, looking into the woman's eyes, saw the madness there. Ordinarily, he would have felt stirrings of pity for her, but not with his life in the balance. "I didn't..." only for the woman to shriek, "Silence! Your pathetic lies will not save you now!"

The woman suddenly swung around towards Flea. "And you…" pointing a finger at her. You should be long gone. That explosion ..the fire… Charon was mine. Then, you came along with your pretty face and seductive ways and stole him from me. You're next at the end of the rope."

Turning again on Aramis, her voice was becoming more shrill as she continued to work herself up.

"I thought at first you should die at the end of a blade, like you did to Charon. But this is far more fitting. It's justice! It's what the King himself has done to murderers!"

Turning to the crowd, she raised her voice, "Do we want justice here today? What say you all?"

The crowd roared again, lifting their arms and pointing their index fingers down in mock judgement.

One of the men who had brought him here, buoyed up by the crowd, grabbed the noose. The other two grabbed his arms, as if there were anywhere he could run in this madhouse.

His breathing had sped up to such a point now in terror that his heart felt like it was going to explode, as the man forced the noose over his head and tightened it at the side of his neck. The men holding his arms now let go, knowing he didn't dare move without strangling himself.

Aramis, locking his trembling knees to keep them from giving out under him and hanging himself, closed his eyes and began fervently to pray.


	21. Chapter 21

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had reached the Court of Miracles, agreeing that they needed to stay together while they searched. The place, besides being home to the men who had taken Aramis and Flea, was also home to a great many other criminals, none of whom would welcome their presence.

They tried to hurriedly decide which one of a set of branching roads to take, knowing how like a rabbit warren the streets of the Court were, finally going left.

They hadn't progressed more than a few yards, though, when they heard what sounded like a large crowd roaring their approval for something.

All three of them looked at each other, the same thought on the minds of all of them. Aramis!

Breaking into a run, both pistols and swords in their hands, they followed the noise they could hear. It was as they neared a double gate that it was the loudest.

They silently and cautiously pushed the doors open.

What they beheld was the worst nightmare any of them could envision.

Men everywhere, both sitting and standing, around a scaffold, arms raised and thumbs down, like some kind of sick vote.

Then they looked at the scaffold in the center, eyes raising up. At the top of it was…..Aramis!

His hands were bound behind him, a noose around his neck, his eyes closed in silent prayer. Even as they watched, a man stood at the lever.

And then, before they could even move, he pushed it down!

Aramis fell helplessly through the now-open trap door he had been placed over, the rope tightening as he dropped.

Athos lifted his pistol instantly and fired. He knew he didn't come close to Aramis' uncanny ability to hit the center of anything he set his sights on, but sheer determination and desperation gave him the ability to sever the rope in two.

The crowd turned, almost as one, now setting their sights on the men who had spoiled their fun. Advancing on the Musketeers, they began pulling blades and pistols, some picking up rocks or debris off the ground to use as weapons. Fury filled the faces in the crowd even more when they noticed that the newcomers were Musketeers.

The Musketeers, desperate to get to their brother, found any way to get through blocked, so stood their ground fearlessly against overwhelming odds.

But before the crowd could unleash their fury on them, a mighty thunder of hooves sounded behind them.

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Aramis, deeply in prayer, still heard the increase in the crowd's clamor, instinctively knowing the moment had come. He barely had time to mouth the words 'into Your hands, I commend my spirit', when the floor dropped beneath him.

Helplessly falling through the now-open space, the noose tightened rapidly, cutting off his air and his consciousness. As he started to black out, his body slammed into the scaffolding supports.

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Rounding the corner, Treville galloped, and with him a troop of his Musketeers, all with swords raised above their heads. The fearsome sight was more than enough to halt the crowd in its tracks, staring.

Coming to a halt, Treville raised his voice to be heard above the crowd. "All of you. Go home. Now. If anyone of you are still here in five minutes, you will be arrested and taken to the Chatelet. Now, go!"

The crowd started to scatter as fast as they could move at the promise in his command , almost tripping over their own feet in their haste to get away from the threat.

No one, in the pandemonium, saw the wild-eyed, black-haired woman stealthily come up behind Flea, grabbing her around the throat.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan, now that the crowd no longer hindered them, raced across the courtyard to the scaffolding, fear clutching at their hearts at what they were afraid they would find. Treville dismounted, following in their wake, not knowing what exactly had happened right before he had arrived.

Climbing under the scaffolding, their eyes quickly found the crumpled body of their brother. Making their way over, they knelt at his side.

They could see the red groove around his neck from when it had choked him as he dropped. The noose itself had slipped a little further down, still around his neck.

Athos reached out and laid two fingers against Aramis' neck. Nothing. He tried again, a little harder this time. Still nothing.

Shaken, he laid his head against his brother's chest, listening intently for a heartbeat. Still nothing.

Leaning back, he finally looked up at his brothers, tears in his eyes, shock in his voice. "He is gone."

Porthos answered right back. "No..I don't believe it. He can't be."

Athos said softly, "Porthos."

Porthos didn't respond. He just gathered his brother's limp body into his arms.

As soon as he did, though, they all heard a faint groan.

Porthos' joyous voice said, "I knew he wasn't dead!"

Athos was stunned and so happy, he couldn't speak. D'Artagnan just grinned from ear to ear.

Athos asked him softly, "Aramis, are you with us?"

After a moment, they saw his lips move, but no sound emerged. Again, his lips moved, with the same result. Aramis' eyes flew open, panic evident in them.

Athos knew what was wrong. "Aramis, it is all right. Your voice will come back (he hoped). Your throat was injured," not wanting him to start recalling what he had just gone through for now.

But it was too late. He could see the look of horror come over his brother's countenance, as the hanging came back to him.

"It is all right, Aramis. You are safe now."

But Aramis was starting to shake with the force of his emotions. His breathing began rapidly to increase. Athos, laying a hand gently on his chest to try to calm him, could feel the wild beating of his heart beneath his fingers. Then, his body moving a little in his struggle, he cried out in pain, and went limp.

Athos said, "He has another injury, possibly from the fall. We need to get him back to….." halting as a woman with wild black hair appeared at the edge of the scaffolding, an arm wrapped around Flea's throat, and a pistol in her hand pointed straight at Aramis.

"This ends now!" she shrieked.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**I don't know why cliffhangers keep coming into my inspirations so often in this particular story! **


	22. Chapter 22

There was madness in the woman's eyes as she focused on Aramis, the pistol she held never wavering from its aim at his head.

Aramis' brothers knew they needed to keep themselves as still as possible to avoid her pulling the trigger, despite wanting desperately to take him away from the danger.

She was speaking again. "I guess if I want something done right, I need to do it myself." Forcing Flea's head further back by pulling her arm around her throat tighter, she said in a menacing voice, "First the Musketeer, then you, Flea!"

Athos was desperately trying to think of any form of diversion that might have a chance of working, but they all would endanger Aramis' life even further.

"You would think at least one of the men I have paid a good amount of gold to could have had the wits and determination to get the job done. All failures. Well, this ends here!" lifting the pistol to her eye level while still keeping it trained on her target.

But then, a pistol came down against her skull, causing her to wilt to the ground, the pistol clattering down beside her.

Treville stepped around her, motioning over his shoulder to two of his men to take her body away.

He had followed them when they had headed for the scaffold, and had seen the wild-eyed woman dragging Flea in the same direction. Not knowing what she was up to yet, he trailed her, watching to see what she was up to. He also didn't want to risk Flea's life.

But when he heard her words, and saw the pistol threatening his already vulnerable and injured Musketeer, he went into action.

The woman had no idea he was coming up behind her, so it wasn't too difficult to end the threat.

He saw the looks of profound relief on Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan's faces, as they shakily smiled at him.

Porthos said, "Two nearly fatal threats to him are too many. Let's get him back to the garrison, so we can finally take care of him," suiting his action to his words, reaching under Aramis' shoulder and legs, lifted him effortlessly in his arms, heading out of the Court of Miracles, which had been nothing but a place of pain and near-death for his brother, d'Artagnan at his side.

Athos started to follow, but Treville said, "A moment of your time?"

Athos turned back, a question in his eyes.

Treville asked, Did they actually hang Aramis?"

Nodding, Athos told him, "As we got here, we saw him already bound on the scaffold, a noose around his neck. I barely had time to react to the man pulling the lever to the trapdoor. Aramis was already being hung when I managed to shoot and sever the rope. We are just incredibly lucky that the noose didn't break his neck when he dropped. He awoke for a moment after we reached him, but became panicked when he couldn't speak. I am concerned both with the damage that might have been done to his throat and lungs from the hanging, and the injuries to his body in the fall. With your permission, I would like to go back to the garrison to take care of him."

Treville's face had been one of horror at what Aramis had experienced. Hearing the note of worry in his usually stoic Musketeer, he now nodded, saying, Whatever you need is at your disposal, Athos. You need only ask. If Lemay is back yet at the palace from his visit to his family, I will have him sent to you, as well."

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Striding through the streets back to the garrison, Porthos kept glancing worriedly down at his brother. He could see his brother's face keep scrunching up. Aramis was in a lot of pain.

He hadn't deserved a moment of the world of torment he had been put through, not once but twice. He had no sooner recovered from the first ordeal, than he had been taken again. How the hanging had not killed him, before the rope was severed, he didn't know. But he was incredibly thankful that his brother had survived, and intended to make sure he pulled through this time, as well.

Increasing his pace, they finally reached the garrison. Striding across the compound while startled fellow Musketeers looked on, d'Artagnan opened wide the infirmary doors for Porthos and his precious burden.

Laying him down on a bed, they stripped him of his dirty bloodstained clothes, and were just beginning to do a thorough examination to see the extent of his injuries, when Athos strode in.

"How is he?" he asked, coming over to the bed.

"We don't know yet. He didn't wake up on the way back, but from the reactions on his face, he is experiencing a lot of pain."

Rather than continue to discuss matters, Aramis just began to examine his brother.

The skin around the red welt around his neck had swollen, which would be even more painful for Aramis. Athos hoped his brother would regain his voice, and that it would not cause any other problems.

Examining the rest of his body, he at last discovered both broken ribs and a broken foot, the results of his helpless fall, when he had hit one of the wooden supports and landed hard on the ground.

They bound his ribs and made a wooden splint for his foot, after carefully bathing his body.

It was as they were laying a blanket over him that he began to awaken.

His face revealed his confusion, not understanding what was going on.

Athos softly told him, "You are at the garrison, Aramis. Lie still. Your throat is …" going no further when Aramis' face twisted into an expression of horror, and his breathing began to rapidly increase.

The words must have triggered memories of the hanging, and Athos could have kicked himself for being the cause. Aramis' eyes looked haunted by the terror he had gone through, and he no longer heard Athos' voice.

They continued to try to soothe him, calm him down, but exhaustion did it for them as he wore himself out with the force of his emotions.

They knew the hanging was going to bring nightmares in the days ahead.

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**There is at least one more chapter coming up. Thanks for reading!**_


	23. Chapter 23

He felt the rough texture of the rope as the noose was dropped over his head and tightened around his neck. Fear was like a live thing now, his breathing speeding up and his heart hammering inside of him.

He heard the raucous cries of the crowd, clamoring to 'get on with it!' They were roaring for the hanging to happen, the hanging that was going to snuff out his life.

He knew that if his brothers were aware that he had been taken, nothing on this earth would keep them from pursuing and finding him.

But he had been taken so suddenly and unexpectedly. He didn't blame Flea's attempt at running away for his predicament. She had no way of knowing, either.

And who could have foreseen that there would be an immediate execution?

He wasn't ready to die. He had so much to live for.

He could hear movement from the man he knew was standing near the lever-the lever that would bring his life to an excruciatingly painful end, choking on the end of a rope.

He began to pray the prayer he had turned to several times in his life-the prayer of the dying. Into Your hands, Lord, I commend my spirit.

The few other times he had thought he was about to die, his brothers came thundering to his rescue. Not this time, though, tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes.

Eyes closed, he only had a second's notice, as almost at the same time he heard movement from near the lever, he dropped.

The noose tightened. Oh how it hurt! He couldn't breathe! Vaguely, he began vhoking, then could feel his arms and legs flailing, and then-nothing. Everything went black, and his body became horribly still.

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He felt like he was floating in black waters. Where am I? he wondered vaguely.

It seemed like a long time, he remained there content in its peace.

But then, he heard a voice. It was calling his name. He knew that voice. It belonged to someone he loved. Athos!

He could feel muscular arms around him now. Porthos!

He had to answer. The voice sounded so sad. Opening his mouth at last, he attempted to speak.

Nothing!

He tried again, harder. His throat felt horribly scratch as he tried as hard as he could to use it.

Nothing! No could make no sound at all!

His eyes flew open as he panicked. What was wrong?

He heard Athos, faintly as from a long distance, trying to reassure him, but the words ratcheted up his fear.

Why couldn't he speak? He couldn't make a sound!

It was scaring him. He didn't understand. But then he passed out.

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He awoke again, not knowing where he was. His face reflected his confusion.

Then, once more he tried to speak. But he couldn't make a sound, becoming agitated as he tried.

He heard Athos speaking gently softly, "Your throat was injured" immediately bringing back the horror of being helpless, plummeting down, the rope so tight it cut his breathing abruptly off, then…nothing.

His breathing sped up so much, he began gasping for air. He dimly thought he was taking his last breaths before he went utterly limp, blacking out.

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D'Artagnan, whose time at Aramis' bedside it was, tried to calm his brother down, but to no avail.

Finally, he lifted Aramis up against him, speaking soothing words to him as he looked back over his shoulder towards his brothers.

Both of them were rapidly moving towards the bed, sitting down on either side of them.

Porthos began rubbing gentle circles on Aramis' upper back and shoulders, while Athos began carding his fingers softly through the marksman's tousled hair.

Within minutes, Aramis had calmed down, until he let out a shuddering sigh.

Moments passed, and he finally opened weary eyes. The nightmares had come frequently and strongly for over three days. During one of them, his breathing had stopped, sending them all into uncharacteristic panic. Fortunately, it began after nearly half a minute in which they were afraid that they might have lost their brother.

"Aramis?" Athos spoke quietly so as not to startle him.

At first, they thought he wouldn't respond. He hadn't after any of the other episodes.

But finally, weary, pain-filled eyes blinked several times, then finally opened. Looking dazedly around, he stilled when he saw where he was. Looking at each of their faces, he let out the breath he had been holding.

"W..why am I i...in the in...infirmary," he asked, his voice raspy and barely audible, confusion filling his face now. "D..did I g..get injured?"

His brothers, remembering what had happened when they slightly mentioned his injury last time, were silent.

Athos asked him slowly, "Do you remember anything, Aramis?"

He was silent for so long, they didn't know what was going through his head.

Then he said in a voice that was barely audible, "I couldn't … couldn't breathe."

He stopped, drawing a long, shaky breath. "I … f..felt m..myself … d..dying."

Athos couldn't remember such a silent moment in his life. All of them just sat stunned, and wishing they could remove the horror he had been through.

It wasn't Aramis alone who had silent tears begin to fall. All of their emotions poured from them.

"I bl..blacked out. I..I don't even k..know h..how I'm alive."

D'Artagnan quiet, stricken voice answered. "Athos severed the rope with a bullet, Aramis."

Aramis, deeply moved, said simply, "Th..thank you f ..for my life."

"I would have done anything to save your life, Aramis. All of us would. You went through hell, and for what? Saving the life of your brother. This whole insane…." he stopped, torn at the unspeakable travesty his beloved brother had been forced to endure.

Aramis eyes shone with the love and gratitude he felt for his brothers. But now his eyes, despite trying to keep awake, were closing with exhaustion.

"Sleep, brother. We can speak again later."

Within seconds, he was asleep. They just hoped that he might have a night of rest this time, to help him to heal.


	24. Chapter 24

Mercifully, there were no nightmares all day, and then all the next night.

Aramis slept the entire time, peacefully and without any movement whatsoever, body relaxed at last.

His brothers were grateful beyond words for the quiet and the calm for their brother.

Morning of the next day came, and with it, at long last, some slight movements from their slumbering brother.

Sleepy lids finally blinked open, and a smile began to spread as he beheld all three of his brothers ranged around his bed. Porthos held his hand loosely, while d'Artagnan sat leaning forward with his hands clasped loosely between his knees. Athos' keen gaze watched his brother, and the love of all three of them shone in their gazes, along with hopefulness and concern.

"How do you feel, brother?" Athos asked, hoping it was not a question Aramis was still unable to respond to.

Aramis, remembering what had happened when he had attempted to speak the last time he had awakened, hesitated.

Then he tried, finding his throat very scratchy and painful to use, but his words, barely audible as they were, were such a joy for his brothers to hear-until they realized what he was attempting to say. "I..I am fi….," stopping when the unexpected sound of laughter greeted his words.

"Now, we know you are definitely getting better, Aramis," Athos told him. "You are most definitely getting better (emphasizing 'better,' but only you would say 'fine' after what you have been through!"

Aramis, slightly embarrassed by the laughter, looked down, his next words sobering them instantly.

"I..I thought…I would b..be in heaven wh..when I w..woke next," a little breathy catch in his words as he finished the sentence. He tried to speak further, only to start coughing.

Rubbing his back gently, Porthos eased the spell as Aramis' painful cough gradually lessened and finally stopped..

"Try not to speak too much yet, mon ami," Athos quietly advised him. "Your throat…your whole body has been through a severe trauma. It needs to heal."

Obviously, his words had triggered his memory once again, as fear and agony chased themselves across his face, telling them clearly that he wouldn't be rid of the experience for some time to come.

Trying to divert his thoughts, Athos asked him, "Would you like to try some of Serge's chicken broth, Aramis? He worked hard on making it for you, and asks us constantly when you will be waking up to try some of it."

Aramis nodded his head slowly, and d'Artagnan retrieved the wooden bowl with the delicious smell of roasted chicken wafting in the air.

Athos took the bowl from the Gascon, lifting a small spoonful to Aramis' lips.

They could tell that he loved the taste on his tongue. But when he attempted to swallow it, he made a distressed sound, as his throat protested immediately.

Porthos patted Aramis on the shoulder, saying, "It's all right. It's just a little too soon. We haven't let your throat heal enough yet. We can try again tomorrow."

Athos set the bowl aside, trying to figure out what they could give Aramis, as they knew how hungry he must be.

"Maybe something smooth and cool."

D'Artagnan perked up, "Milk. I'll get some from Serge," heading out the door as he spoke.

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Able to swallow some of the milk d'Artagnan brought back from Serge, Aramis quickly fell asleep afterwards.

Waiting until he was fully asleep, Athos turned to his brothers.

"I think we need him to talk to us about what he went through," Athos told his brothers. "It may relieve him from the night…" breaking off when Aramis cried out in his sleep.

Before they reached the bed he screamed, flailing his arms and legs.

Porthos pulled him up against his chest, and could feel the tremors radiating through his body. After a few more moments, Aramis awoke abruptly with a gasp. Wildly looking around, it took him a moment to realize where he was and with whom. His body gradually relaxed.

Athos, nodding to his brothers, began to speak softly to Aramis.

Tousling his hair affectionately, he asked, "Aramis, do you remember when you left the garrison after Flea?"

When he had first said 'do you remember,' Aramis had tensed up, but the rest of the question had him looking questioningly at his brother.

"She ran off," Aramis haltingly began. "She said she was hungry, so I went and got some food, ...but she was gone."

Athos prompted him, when Aramis stopped. "Did you find her?"

Aramis gave Athos a long look before answering, wondering where he was going with his questions.

"Yes. B..but…"

"What happened, Aramis?"

"I d..don't want…" Aramis began, but Athos gently insisted.

"This will help you, Aramis."

Aramis trusted his brother, so he continued.

"They had hold of her. Then, I..I heard a pistol behind me. Th..they said we were going to the Court."

"What happened then?"

"We came to the gates. When they were opened..." He stopped, his breathing beginning to speed up.

"Th..there was a …crowd. And a s..scaffold. And a n…noose," his voice so quiet now, they struggled to hear his words.

Athos looked up at his brothers, pain and sorrow in his eyes that he had to do this. He could see the same emotions reflected there, as well. He turned slowly back to Aramis.

"Aramis?" Athos asked. "What happened then?"

They could all see him trembling then.

"Th..they pushed m..me in the b..back towards it. I d..didn't want to g..go.". He stopped, taking a long shaky breath.

"Th..they f..forced..me up the ladder. Th..the p..people were sc..screaming 'h..hang h..him. I f..felt the r..rope p..put ar..around my n..neck." He was stuttering so badly now, he could barely speak.

"I..I f..felt it t..tighten. I..I was s..so s..scared. I d..didn't w..want to d..die. B..but the..the h..hatch opened, and.…I st..started f..falling."

Tears were drenching his cheeks by now. "I..I c..couldn't be..breathe. I..I tried. I..was ch..choking. Then, every…everything went bl..black. I th..thought I..I d..died."

His breathing was so fast now, he couldn't catch his breath.

Athos gently pulled him against his chest, rubbing circles on his back. "You did fine, mon ami. You needed to relive what happened. One piece of it was tearing you apart in nightmares you could not avoid.

Those men were evil. They are all dead now. The woman who orchestrated it is gone. They were insane, Aramis. What they did was evil. You survived. You are much stronger than you know, brother."


	25. Chapter 25

Aramis gradually healed a little faster after the nightmares abated. He still had them once in a while, but not nearly as often or quite as traumatic.

His voice was still scratchy and sore, but it no longer inhibited his swallowing, and his brothers and Serge were both relieved and happy to know that he had some solid, nourishing food in his stomach at long last.

One day, after giving Aramis some morning porridge, his brothers came back from muster to find Aramis laying half on the bed and half off, his breathing harsh and rapid.

Hurrying to his bed, the quickly laid him back on the pillows.

"Were you tryin' to get up too soon like you always tell us not to do?" Porthos teased, hoping to get the traumatized look off his brother's face.

Aramis was silent.

Athos softly asked, "What happened, Aramis?"

Aramis' eyes looked at him, but didn't answer.

"Aramis?" Athos prompted gently.

"I…tried to…get up," he finally responded, his voice whisper-soft, and sounding shocked.

"And…"

"I…reached my feet…" Here, he stopped again. "But my…th…throat cl..closed up, and… I couldn't breathe," fear lacing his words.

Aramis was one of the bravest men they had ever known, so his brothers knew it had to have been really bad to elicit this respnse from him.

Athos called over his shoulder to d'Artagnan, "Get Lemay," and the Gascon was out the door a moment later.

"Can you breathe all right now, mon ami?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Aramis' face.

"Yes," came the quiet reply.

"It was only when you were upright that this happened?"

"Yes," a visibly more calm, but confused marksman answered.

"Let us see what Dr. Lemay has to say when he comes," Athos decided. "Try to get some rest, Aramis. We will find out why this happened, I promise you."

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Dr. Lemay examined Aramis as soon as he arrived.

Aramis, worried about what had happened, kept his eyes glued on the physician's face the whole time.

Finally, Lemay finished and sat silently for a few moments. Then, he spoke directly to Aramis.

"I remember something pretty similar to this several years ago."

Aramis nodded his head, trying to be patient in finding out what could have happened to him.

"I believe that since you had been in a prone position for quite some time while you were injured, you were probably breathing more quickly from trying to get up after so long. Your throat, still very tender from the trauma you had gone through, swelled. When you felt this happening, you naturally felt a little panic, which didn't help matters, either, even though it would be a natural reaction after what you have been through. I would strongly recommend that, even though you want to heal quickly, that you take it easy and stay in bed a while longer."

Aramis face became one of intense relief now that he knew he could prevent himself from being unable to breathe, which in turn had brought back the moment when he was hung.

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan, Lemay's words having relieved them also, gave their brother comforting pats on the back and shoulders.

"Thank you so very much, Doctor," Athos spoke for them all. "I think you will find that Aramis will follow your advice to the letter," seeing his brother nodding his head at his words.

Lemay then left, telling them that if there were any problems, to just send a message to have him come back.

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Aramis was, surprisingly obedient to Lemay's instructions. The medic, who was notorious with his brothers for always insisting he was 'just fine' when he was ill or injured, didn't try any antics to get up and resume his normal activities until Lemay pronounced him well enough to begin walking, and after he was steadier on his feet, light duties.

Athos emphasized 'light' just as a firm reminder, since none of his brothers could quite believe their eyes yet that the marksman had actually, finally done what a physician had told him to do.

Once he was released from any restrictions, he did revert to classic Aramis, insisting on their visiting The Wren that evening.

All the way there, he had them laughing at his tall stories. He was just so overjoyed to be living his regular life again, that he was bursting with energy.

Reaching the tavern, they sat at their regular table, ordered the beef stew that the owner's wife made so well, and leaned back in their chairs for a long, enjoyable evening.

Athos, surprisingly enough, barely drank more than a single glass of wine, content to keep an eye on his rambunctious brother, that Aramis didn't drink too much on his first evening back out.

Aramis was still telling stories, each one more imaginative than the one before.

The barmaid, going about her serving duties, watched him out of the corner of her eye, and winking when she finally caught his attention.

Yes, Aramis was in his element tonight, his brothers each thought to themselves. And they felt happy and blessed that it was so.

They had come much too close to losing him.

Aramis gradually healed a little faster after the nightmares abated. He still had them once in a while, but not nearly as often or quite as traumatic.

His voice was still scratchy and sore, but it no longer inhibited his swallowing, and his brothers and Serge were both relieved and happy to know that he had some solid, nourishing food in his stomach at long last.

One day, after giving Aramis some morning porridge, his brothers came back from muster to find Aramis laying half on the bed and half off, his breathing harsh and rapid.

Hurrying to his bed, the quickly laid him back on the pillows.

"Were you tryin' to get up too soon like you always tell us not to do?" Porthos teased, hoping to get the traumatized look off his brother's face.

Aramis was silent.

Athos softly asked, "What happened, Aramis?"

Aramis' eyes looked at him, but didn't answer.

"Aramis?" Athos prompted gently.

"I…tried to…get up," he finally responded, his voice whisper-soft, and sounding shocked.

"And…"

"I…reached my feet…" Here, he stopped again. "But my…th…throat cl..closed up, and… I couldn't breathe," fear lacing his words.

Aramis was one of the bravest men they had ever known, so his brothers knew it had to have been really bad to elicit this respnse from him.

Athos called over his shoulder to d'Artagnan, "Get Lemay," and the Gascon was out the door a moment later.

"Can you breathe all right now, mon ami?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Aramis' face.

"Yes," came the quiet reply.

"It was only when you were upright that this happened?"

"Yes," a visibly more calm, but confused marksman answered.

"Let us see what Dr. Lemay has to say when he comes," Athos decided. "Try to get some rest, Aramis. We will find out why this happened, I promise you."

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Dr. Lemay examined Aramis as soon as he arrived.

Aramis, worried about what had happened, kept his eyes glued on the physician's face the whole time.

Finally, Lemay finished and sat silently for a few moments. Then, he spoke directly to Aramis.

I remember something pretty similar to this several years ago."

Aramis nodded his head, trying to be patient in finding out what could have happened to him.

"I believe that since you had been in a prone position for quite some time while you were injured, you were probably breathing more quickly from trying to get up after so long.

Aramis face became one of intense relief now that he knew he could prevent himself from being unable to breathe, which in turn had brought back the moment when he was hung.

"Your throat, still very tender from the trauma you had gone through, swelled. When you felt this happening, you naturally felt a little panic, which didn't help matters, either, even though it would be a natural reaction after what you have been through. I would strongly recommend that, even though you want to heal quickly, that you take it easy and stay in bed a while longer."

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan, Lemay's words having relieved them also, gave their brother comforting pats on the back and shoulders.

"Thank you so very much, Doctor," Athos spoke for them all. "I think you will find that Aramis will follow your advice to the letter," seeing his brother nodding his head at his words.

Lemay then left, telling them that if there were any problems, to just send a message to have him come back.

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Aramis was, surprisingly obedient to Lemay's instructions. The medic who was notorious with his brothers for always insisting he was 'just fine' when he was ill or injured, didn't try any antics to get up and resume his normal activities until Lemay pronounced him well enough to begin walking, and after he was steadier on his feet, light duties.

Athos emphasized 'light' just as a firm reminder, since none of his brothers could quite believe their eyes yet that the marksman had actually, finally done what a physician had told him to do.

Once he was released from any restrictions, he did revert to classic Aramis, insisting on their visiting The Wren that evening.

All the way there, he had them laughing at his tall stories. He was just so overjoyed to be living his regular life again, that he was bursting with energy.

Reaching the tavern, they sat at their regular table, ordered the beef stew that the owner's wife made so well, and leaned back in their chairs for a long, enjoyable evening.

Athos, surprisingly enough, barely drank more than a single glass of wine, content to keep an eye on his rambunctious brother, that Aramis didn't drink too much on his first evening back out.

Aramis was still telling stories, each one more imaginative than the one before.

The barmaid, going about her serving duties, watched him out of the corner of her eye, and winking when she finally caught his attention.

Yes, Aramis was in his element tonight, his brothers each thought to themselves. And they felt happy and blessed that it was so.

They had come much too close to losing him.

Fin.

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

_**Thanks so much for reading! **_


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